Questions and Answers
by brigitte51
Summary: Finrod has been reembodied and he is back in Valinor, after centuries spent in exile. This unexpected event is seen as a blessing by his parents, but what of Amárië, the Elf he was betrothed to and who could not follow him to Beleriand? The story of their second 'first encounter' and lots of flashbacks.
1. The Harbor

Finrod has been one of my all-time favorites, so I'm glad I get to write about him and I'm also glad he has a 'canon' lover even though we barely know anything about her (I guess it leaves room for imagination). My first fic was about Fingon, and I'm rather fond of him too, but Finrod is just... Finrod, you know.

About the names, I used the Quenya ones, since the story is set in Valinor. So...

Findaráto : Finrod / Aikanáro : Aegnor / Turakáno : Turgon / Itarillë : Idril / Angaráto : Angrod / Artanis : Galadriel / Arafinwë : Finarfin

All credits to Tolkien.

* * *

 **Questions and Answers**

 **Chapter 1 - The Harbor**

 **541 F.A. - Taniquetil**

Amárië knew well the maid, for she had oft been sent by lady Eärwen to bring tidings from Tirion or from Alqualondë and she had also been the one who had carried invitations, whenever lord Arafinwë and his wife had held celebrations. She had welcomed her warmly - she still cherished the special bond she shared with lady Eärwen - , however she had soon noticed the maid looked strangely feverish. Amárië had also thought her manners had been rather hasty when she had asked for a private word - after all, what could not be said in front of her family? And so the two of them had withdrawn in a garden pavilion, well out of earshot, as the maid had insisted they should do.

"Oh, my Lady, would you forgive me, it is quite rude to order you around like this," said the maid, when they were both in, glass doors closed behind them. "Yet lady Eärwen made me swear I would disclose the secret I was entrusted with to you, and only you."

"What secret ?" asked Amárië, alarmed. "Is the Lady well?"

"Worry not, for the Lady and her lord husband are perfectly fine, only... something unexpected happened and our household had been blessed like no other, it seems."

The maid's cheeks were flushed and it was obvious it was difficult for her to conceal her excitement.

"Then would Lady Eärwen be with a child...?" said Amárië, thinking such a thing was absolutely absurd.

"You are not so far from the truth, for one of their children has come back to them," exclaimed the maid, holding Amárië's hands in hers. "Oh my Lady, would you believe it, lord Findaráto has been brought back to life by the Valar themselves and he now walks again on the sandy streets of white Tirion!"

"Findaráto...?" whispered Amárië, gaping.

The moment she heard this name, her mind went completely blank and she staggered as she tried to reach the nearest seat.

"Do sit down, my Lady," told her the maid, softly. "It must be quite a shock for you, after all."

She helped Amárië on a bench and the latter, feeling dizzy, breathed heavily.

"How can that be...?" she managed to articulate, at last. "Have the Valar forgiven him?"

Her face was white and a few tears had gathered at the corner of her eyes, although none rolled down on her cheeks.

"He has indeed, and solely he has been forgiven," explained the maid who had produced a small handkerchief and was gently wiping Amárië's eyes with it.

"And so... you said he was brought back to life... Am I to understand he had passed away?"

The maid nodded.

"I do not know for sure how it happened, but war has been raging in Beleriand," she explained. "Lord Findaráto has yet to tell more about his life in exile, but he has to rest often these days and he does not enjoy much company outside of his parents."

It took a while for Amárië to process all these new informations and she could not do anything but stay silent. So far had she not believed they would be sundered till the end of all ages? And all of sudden she was told he was back, fully back.

"How... how is he...?" she muttered. "Is he much changed?"

The maid stroked her hair, her eyes full of sympathy.

"Upon seeing him, you would never imagine he even left the Undying Lands."

"Is that so..."

What a strange feeling to imagine that Findaráto, her dear Findaráto, was somewhere down the Taniquetil, on the hill of Túna. Mere leagues stood between them, if she were to run, she would reach him before sunset, yet... she was scared at the idea of having to face him, after all that time.

"Lady Eärwen bade me to tell you that, as always, you are welcome under her roof and were you willing to meet lord Findaráto, she would gladly settle the matter on your behalf."

Amárië said no words.

"He is here to stay, my Lady. He is not permitted to leave Aman again."

It brought Amárië but little comfort and she would have liked to point out that the Noldor had forsaken the Doom of Mandos already.

"Lady Eärwen is kind to have sent you here," she said, in a strained voice. "Yet I do not know... I..."

Amárië simply shook her head, still thunderstruck.

"Will you not go back to Tirion with me then, my Lady?"

"Am I expected there so soon?"

The maid shrugged.

"Do you not wish to see him?"

"Of course, I do, of course..." sighed Amárië. "What of him though... has he mentioned me at all?"

"He is barely out of the Halls of Mandos, he does not talk much..."

Amárië smiled sadly.

"Please tell lady Eärwen I am highly flattered by the friendship she is honouring me with, and also that her invitation will not remained unanswered long," she said, staring at the ground. "She would surely understand it is a great news for me too and that I cannot act hastily upon hearing about it."

"As you bid me, lady Amárië."

"I thank you too, I am always glad to see you."

"My Lady, it is ever a pleasure to meet you, truly."

The maid had risen, yet Amárië remained seated, for she felt weary.

"You are free to leave now," she told the maid. "I need some time on my own to deal with... my memories."

* * *

 **1493 Y.T. Alqualondë**

Vanyarin friends of Turakáno's wife, Elenwë, had come along with her to Alqualondë when she, her husband and their daughter had been invited to stay there by lady Eärwen and her family. Some of these companions, who had never visited the harbor and barely ever seen the sea, had soon expressed the wish to visit the marketplace and the docks, for they were very curious about the ships and the many treasures the Teleri brought back from Tol Eressëa and from the ocean itself.

Upon hearing their request, Findaráto had offered to guide them himself, as he fancied he knew a lot about his mother's folk and also that he had a certain talent to tell stories. He was quite happy too to lead his little group throughout the beautiful streets of the Swan-haven, where pearls and jewels shone brightly on walls and pillars, and he kept stopping here and there, pointing out whatever he found worth his guests' attention - and he thought he was doing pretty well, for his speech had never been so flourishing.

There were seven Elves following him and among them was his brother Aikanáro, the only one of his siblings who had been kind enough not to refuse to embark on this tour, despite knowing beforehand such a walk would be as endless as Findaráto's chatter on the seashells that adorned the archway leading to the marketplace. On the other hand, Turakáno and his daughter, Itarillë, were more naive and, ignoring the warnings of Angaráto and Artanis, they had been very enthusiastic at the idea of discovering some of the most beautiful spots of Alqualondë. As for Elenwë and her three Vanyarin friends, Ingorion, Lindómë and Amárië, they were the ones following Findaráto closest, eagerly listening to his words and nodding at whatever he said - or at least they did so, at the beginning.

Yet as time passed by, and as they moved slower and slower, since Findaráto's comments grew longer, what had been a tight-knit party became a rather loose group whose members eventually started to scatter.

"This particular column has been covered with aquamarines the Noldor have gifted the Teleri with and as you may recall - I did bring it up while we were walking under the archway -, it was part of the displays of friendship between our two folks, which also reflected the bond between..."

Aikanáro, who had gotten bored first, was staring at his elder brother's mouth, wondering if it would ever shut again, and for how long. Hopefully, he remembered there was an archery range located not far from the docks and it quickly seemed an excellent notion to leave. And as Aikanáro felt generous, he grabbed Ingorion, a tall fellow whom he had no difficulty to convince to desert with him.

Findaráto, busy as he was telling every single anecdote he knew about aquamarines, did not notice his audience had lost two of its members, nor was he aware later that Turakáno and Elenwë had chosen to stay with a Falmari choir that was singing in the marketplace instead of continuing any further - and they missed a terrific monologue on how the fishermen's stalls had been made of timber from the forests north of Tirion.

And when finally Findaráto had reached the harbor itself, where the magnificent swan-ships were moored, it was Itarillë and Lindómë's turn to escape. They had fallen behind a while ago, although they still followed their guide, yet when they caught a glimpse of the beach's white sand, whatever guilt they could have felt vanished, and they headed there hurriedly, leaving Findaráto alone with Amárië, the last of the Vanyar.

"As I mentioned earlier, the Falmari love especially birchwood and their shipwrights craft it with skills that remain unmatched among the Eldar, and..."

He had turned around, gesturing at the nearest boat, whose golden beak twinkled with the light of Laurelin, and only then did it strike him that of the seven Elves he had lead in the streets of the haven only one stood still in front of him. She was the smallest of Elenwë's Vanyarin friends, and probably the youngest, and she was staring at him intently, like she had during the whole walk, for she was genuinely captivated by his words.

"Have we lost the others, perhaps?" he asked, suddenly confused.

"It seems we did, on our path here," she answered, though it did not seem to trouble her at all.

Findaráto glanced around, expecting at least Aikanáro or Turakáno to show up, hoping for a moment they had pulled a prank on him. Yet after a few long minutes had passed, it became plain everyone had given up on him, everyone but the little Vanya.

"Was my speech so awful...?" he muttered to himself, running his hand in his hair. "Why would they leave like that...? My ideas do tend to stray and I might be too willing to be accurate, yet I thought that for once I had managed to be entertaining enough..."

He was pacing around, rubbing his chin nervously, and he had completely forgotten about docks, the swan-ships and Amárië, who was listening to him with great concern, as if it was all part of the city tour.

"You need not worry, my Lord," she said, very seriously. "You have been a great guide, yet you forgot that, as much as they wanted to learn more about the harbor, they also wished to enjoy whatever new things they saw. You have addressed them the way a scholar would talk to his peers, and so it might be that you misjudged their original interest and got carried away by your own fervor."

Findaráto looked down at her, as he stopped moving, startled. She had those pale blue eyes, that sparkled like sapphires and that were found among the Vanyar solely, and her hair was long and wavy, its color being somewhere between dark gold and amber - a rather peculiar shade for one of the Fair Elves. Truth be told, Amárië was remarkably beautiful, even for one of her folk, but Findaráto could not bother to notice it, as he was upset that his skills as a story-teller had so utterly failed him

"You mean that my manners were too ditactic?" he said, frowning. "Haven't they requested to learn more about the history of the city, though... I could surely not overlook the part the Noldor played in building Alqualondë, and the friendship between my grandfathers was sealed with the joint construction of this harbor, was it not better if I told how they became friends in the first place, when they dwelled in the East, before they were summoned to the blessed lands?"

Truth was, Findaráto had even talked of the Awakening and of the creation of the stars, for he simply loved to allude to these particular episodes, whatever his main topic was.

"I should tell you that your brother lord Aikanáro and Ingorion left our group well before you were done with this part," said Amárië in a sympathetic tone. "And lord Turakáno and Elenwë never heard you discuss the Teleri's journey to Aman on Tol Eresseä. Perhaps you ought have focused your commentaries on the scallop shells and the pearls adorning the walls and pillars of the haven... Everyone was quite delighted by their shapes and colors."

"They needed no guide if they intended to get a mere view at the city," complained Findaráto who thought it was a shame he would not even get the chance to explain the tricky art of shipbuilding to his little group.

He had kept this for the end, as a final feat, convinced it would thrill them all.

"It is truly a fascinating matter, the swan-ships..." he whispered, scowling.

And then he realized Amárië was still there, and that one was better than none.

"Would you like to take a stroll to the shipyard, my Lady?" he asked, deeming there was still a chance for him to talk of birchwood and carpentry. "The shipwrights are always happy to share their lore and, although I would not want you to think I might be conceited, I happen to know a lot about boats myself."

He looked at her, eagerly awaiting her answer, but Amárië had already something else in mind.

"Lord Findaráto, you have mentioned several times how fresh and delicious are the oysters harvested by the mariners," she said. "And I must confess it has made me quite hungry, have we not been out for hours after all?"

She was oblivious of his disappointed expression and, smiling, she pointed at one of the fisher's booths that stood on the docks. Findaráto was tempted to argue that food could always wait, however he was also glad that Amárië had not missed his brilliant and, apparently, mouth-watering digression on shellfishes.

"I suppose a tasting might be a suited conclusion to this pointless expedition," he mumbled, gesturing toward the stand Amárië hed set her sights on.

As he walked on the large wooden planks of the harbor, some of his grumpiness faded away when he saw her trotting at his side, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

* * *

Findaráto did not brood long, for he was too well-mannered to act so foolishly around a guest, and also because Amárië soon proved to have been a very attentive listener, a fact that did much to improve his ill-treated ego.

"I cannot believe even Turakáno slipped away," he groaned one last time, after he and Amárië had sat at the very end of long dock, a basket full of oysters placed between them.

His complaint was only half-hearted, though, and the sea breeze and the quiet sound of waves lapping had driven off most of his displeasure. Next to him Amárië seemed to be paying no attention to his mood, for she was busy discovering how delicious oysters were indeed and he was a bit surprised she could so easily open them as her hands were notably smaller than his. And it was only after she had swallowed at least half a dozen of them - she really loved it, Findaráto even caught her licking her fingers - that Amárië turned her attention to her surroundings.

"The harbor is truly beautiful," she said, dipping her feet in the water.

"Splendid work has been done here," he agreed, gazing around.

He had eaten one or two oysters and, although he was still hungry, he had pushed the basket slightly toward her. But either Amárië was quite satisfied with what she already had had, either she had taken a sudden interest in architecture, for she stared attentively at the towers that rose not far from the docks.

"Was it not already beautiful, before your craftsmen came and shaped the shore?" she asked, after having been silent for a few minutes.

"It is a natural harbor, yet the city was built along the lines of what the Valar had created beforehand," answered Findaráto who actually had a lot to say on the matter.

He restrained himself from telling her anything more, for he was a bit anxious to scare her away, like the others.

"I do wonder what is more beautiful then, Alqualondë as I see it today, or this location as it was when the Teleri first landed here."

Findaráto took some time to consider this comment.

"One is forever lost, however," he said. "Would not the comparison be vain?"

Amárië merely shrugged.

"Some might think nature as it is cannot be improved, even by the most skillful crafstman."

"Perhaps the land's initial beauty cannot be surpassed, yet one whose hands are able enough can hope to build a few pretty and cozy houses for his friends, do you not agree?"

"Oh I do," she said, helping herself with another oyster. "I suppose only those who came here first really do know the answer to such question, for only they have seen both places - before and after Alqualondë was raised."

"Do you intend on inquiring of my grandfather about it then? He could certainly enlighten you on the matter, better than anyone else, most probably."

Amárië thought about it for a while, pouting.

"I would like to ponder about this a bit more."

Findaráto gazed at her, puzzled.

"You do love questions, do you not?"

"I do, my Lord."

"Then do you have any for me, lady Amárië?"

"As it happens I do."

He smiled broadly.

"Please go ahead, I am all ears."

* * *

 **541 F.A. - Taniquetil**

Amárië still remembered too well the taste of fresh oysters and the graceful shape of the swan-ships, even though Alqualondë had become a place she would rather avoid. She had so often revisited the memory of their first encounter, she only needed to close her eyes to walk on the docks again, and ever she pondered over it. And now she was worried about what their second 'first encounter' would be like and it terrified her to consider it might not turn out so well. There were many issues both of them needed to address, yet what Amárië feared most was that Findaráto would simply not wish to meet her, would simply not need for her to be by his side, for it was more than likely that his years in Beleriand had greatly alter him.

* * *

It seems everyone is always so beautiful in Tolkien's legendarium that the word 'beautiful' loses some of its meaning, but I figured that the Elf who manages to catch Findaráto's heart had to be above average (although probably not as pretty as Galadriel haha). It is surely not her main asset though, because I perceive Finrod as being the 'intellectual' of the family and so it'd be logical he'd fall for someone who has brains like he does. That's where the Amárië I imagined comes from, the idea that they would have long discussions, in the fashion of the _Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth_.


	2. Many names

**Oleanne:** Thank you! I'm very glad you like 'this' Amárië, I really wanted her to give this impression to the reader, and although I can be slow at times, I should manage to finish this story.

Finrod had many names, he was born **Findaráto** (his father-name) and his mother called him **Ingoldo** (literally, 'The Noldo', as in one that is outstanding or it could mean 'the wise' also). Then Findárato became **Finrod** , and the Dwarves named him **Felagund** ('Hewer of caves'), the Men, **Nóm** ('Wisdom'), and, with all his titles, he ended up with quite a collection.

Those names are part of his identity and they'll be part of the fic also, because the names he got in Beleriand are new and strange to Amárië and the Elves who remained in Valinor, since they cannot have known Sindar yet and they never get to meet Men or Dwarves (well, one day they might see Tuor and Gimli, but that's later on). So I thought a little recap would be nice, because these names will keep popping up in the story.

* * *

 **F.A. 541  
**

 **Chapter 2**

Within the next few weeks, news of Findaráto's reembodiement spread everywhere in Aman and much was said about it, although no one knew for sure if what they were relating was true, for barely a couple of his closest family members had met him so far and they had shared very little information with outsiders. Strange words started circulating as well, in the language of the Telerin Elves who had remained in Beleriand, and, being repeated over and over, they soon reached Amárië's ears. She learned that, eastward, Findaráto had been known as Finrod Felagund, king of Nargothrond, Master of caves and Friend-of-Men and, if she thought it was quite like him to collect titles and befriend several folks, she also wondered who exactly was this Sindarin speaking Nóm - that was another of his names, apparently.

Truth was, Amárië felt utterly clueless as of how to act, and that was a rare occurence, as she had been ever renowned for her cleverness of mind. Part of her was, of course, immensely happy that Findaráto was back in Valinor, since she had so long dreaded he would never be allowed to return and that the Ban would never be lifted. On the other hand, it had been through death that he had reached the West at last - something that was completely unheard of in Aman - and Amárië dared not imagine what terrible sufferings Findaráto had had to face before passing away. It was a matter of great worry for her, who knew nothing of the wars of Beleriand, but whose imagination was always prone to the worst whenever she thought of him.

And Amárië was also ashamed of some of her fears, those she deemed to be selfish ones, for she could not help but being worried she and Findaráto might have become estranged, unwillingly, since their lives had been so different over the last centuries. After all, she had never left the bliss of the Undying Lands while he, he had crossed the ice and faced adventure, grief and death. She doubted her own capacity to understand what he had gone through - could she conceive what the vast lands of Beleriand, or worse, a battlefield, were like? And would he even want to tell her about it? The moment of their parting had been so painful that Amárië did not believe these sad memories could be erase by a single glance at each other, a simple touch of the hand, nor a kiss. Whatever their new relationship was going to be, it would require a great deal of efforts from them both, it seemed.

During these days, she spent most of her time out of her parents' dwelling, wandering on the slopes of the Taniquetil to avoid the inquiries of her peers, for among the Vanyar, Amárië herself had become the center of much unwanted attention. A great number of Elves in Valinor still remembered she had been betrothed to Findaráto and rightfully assumed she might have a better insight into his reincarnation. Yet Amárië sought solitude with such willfulness that she was barely seen for a while and some thought she had left for Tirion, whereas she had not even sent a message to lady Eärwen, whose maid had said she was welcomed whenever in lord Arafinwë's tower.

"You cannot hope to avoid everyone forever, Amárië," said her mother, the morning she had come back to their house, after having spent days away, in the forests.

"I was perhaps told earlier that he had been reembodied, however I know nothing they don't already."

"You need not make any account of what lady Eärwen's maid delivered to you, yet it seems you won't have to postpone your decision of meeting him or not any longer."

"Why so?"

"The Lady has come by while you were gone."

"Has she?" exclaimed Amárië, alarmed. "Has she waited long?"

"No, she did not linger here, she was rather in a hurry, I must say."

"What was the purpose of her visit?"

Amárië's heart was beating fast and she understood some matters could not be ignored anymore.

"She meant to invite you to some celebration lady Indis will be holding soon and she made sure to mention that your presence there would be highly appreciated," explained her mother.

"I suppose I cannot refuse..." sighed Amárië. "It had to happen, sooner or later."

"Your father and I will come along, if you wish."

"Of course."

"Will you be alright, dearest? I am sure lady Eärwen would not be offended, were you to decline her invitation."

"Oh, I would have once crossed the deadly ice rather than be sundered from him, I surely could muster some of this courage today to face him again," muttered Amárië, hugging her mother, burying her face against her.

"Remember, this is an unforeseen yet joyful event, however anxious you might feel now."

Amárië stayed silent, inhaling her mother's comforting scent, listening to her steady breath. Everything was calm for a while, and then...

"Amárië, it's been a whole week!"

The shriek had been Astarë's, her little sister, who came in the solar, hurrying towards her.

"What have you done? I missed you!" complained the child, hanging onto her leg.

"You know before you were born, I used to stay away for weeks or months sometimes," said Amárië, who bent down to put a kiss on Astarë's cheek. "I've always loved to travel."

"It is the first time we have been apart for so long, though."

"I won't do it again," promised Amárië.

Astarë had just reached the age of twelve and she was still a tiny thing with silky hair, whose color was so pale that it was almost white. When it came to running and dancing, she lacked no skills, yet she loved more being carried around by her parents or her elder sister, who all doted on her with great delight. Amárië and Astarë were very fond of one another, as was to be expected, and since the younger one already possessed wits beyond her years, the two of them often had long and open-hearted discussions. And so Astarë, even though she was a child, had understood well the turmoil Amárië was going through ever since she had learned that Findaráto had been reincarnated.

"Could I be of any help?" asked Astarë, putting her little hand in Amárië's. "Lady Eärwen said she would be happy if I could attend too. Would you mind if I came along?"

"No, absolutely not."

"Astarë, you will behave well, will you not?" said their mother who was still stroking Amárië's hair.

"I will! I must admit... I am quite eager to see him."

"It is no surprise, you heard much about him," said the elder sister.

"Amárië... you never told me... was it love at first sight?"

"Astarë, you should not bother your sister with such questions," scolded their mother.

"It is alright, Mother, I have no secret for her."

"And so, did you love upon seeing him?"

"No, we were friends at first. Very good friends."

* * *

 **Y.T. 1493 - Tirion**

"Hanquento? Is that a name, really?"

He could not help but laugh a little and Amárië herself was grinning happily.

"You earned it well," she said, "you do always manage to answer all questions, after all."

"Should you be Maquentë, then? Since you are the one inquiring, most of the time."

"Maquentë? That is perhaps how my parents should have named me."

The two of them were talking a walk in Tirion, where Findaráto had invited Amárië to stay when he had understood she was highly unfamiliar with the city, even though her parents had been born there. They were already used to meet with each other every month or so, yet it was the first time Amárië had come up on Túna, for usually Findaráto was the one travelling to the Taniquetil or to Valimar.

"I could spread the word around and soon you shall be known throughout Aman as Amárië Maquentë, the most curious of the Vanyar."

"I shall like it," she nodded, smiling. "Although I do not seek fame."

"Do you not dream poets will sing your beauty?"

"No."

"Is it the swiftness of your mind that should be praised?"

"Neither."

"What will they say about you?"

"I do not know," she said, shrugging. "I am too young to be sung of."

"Oh, Amárië, what a disappointment," he said, chuckling merrily. "I was really looking forward hearing about the tales of Hanquento and Maquentë, does it not sound like their adventures will be utterly entertaining."

"Does one ever meet the unexpected on the sandy streets of Tirion?" wondered Amárië, glancing around. "Is this even sand...? The road is clearer than the beaches of Alqualondë..."

Earlier, Findaráto had made a whole speech about the towers, especially about Mindon Eldaliéva about which he seemed to know everything, but he had yet to say more about the rest of the city. And Amárië was suddenly so intrigued by this bright sand that she had stopped walking and had squatted, brushing the surface of the street with the tip of her fingers.

"They're grains of diamond," explained Findaráto, who had bent down as well. "What else could have been expected, after having climbed cristal stairs? Our craftsmen did take care of every single detail and you would have surely noticed by now that, aside from a touch of gold here and there, the whole city is white, and so the ground we step on."

That was how their strolls usually went like, for Amárië could be easily distracted by her surroundings, and she had an eye to spot the smallest things. As for Findaráto he was ever happy to provide her with whatever lore he could share on the matter of her inquiries and, being prone to sidetracking, he rarely limited himself to compendious answers.

"Right, your tree is white too," said Amárië as she straightened.

"Isn't the White tree what you loved most about my city? Or I should say our city, for our two people used to dwell here together when they settled in Valinor."

"The White Tree is magnificent," she answered at once, beaming.

"What of Mindon Eldaliéva and its silver beam? Or the Great Square?"

"All of it is fascinating, and your folk has the best goldsmiths," said Amárië. "The workshops are such busy places though, do you reckon it would be correct to have a closer look at them, especially the jewellers?"

Findaráto himself was fond of gems, and that day he wore finely wrought rings and a necklace adorned with emeralds that matched his dark green clothes. In comparison, Amárië's lilac attire was much simpler.

"What stone do you like best?"

"I do not know, I have yet to learn more about it."

"Amárië, you do have a favorite color, do you not?"

"Blue."

"And what would you chose, gold or silver?"

"Gold."

"Have you got any jewels?"

"I do, yes..." she said, sending him a puzzled look. "You are quite probing today, is something the matter, Hanquento?"

"Will you call me like this from now on, then?" he laughed, eluding her question.

"At times, yes."

"I shall think about another set of names, dear Maquentë, for I am not so sure our friendship can be described so easily."

"As you like," agreed Amárië, smiling. "But you have not told me yet why you are so curious about my taste or the goods I own."

"I've realized that by now you heard much about me and I so little about you," said Findaráto. "It is true I am rather expansive and never fears to embark on lengthy talk, yet it does not mean I cannot listen. Tell me, what do you like, Amárië?"

"Ah, what should I say? I favor trees over towers and gardens over houses, and I grew up by the light of Laurelin and Telperion and have never seen anything that could match their beauty. I think I could never live far from the Trees, I would probably fade in the darkness, as it would be a grievous separation."

She was silent for a few seconds and Findaráto could see she was collecting her thoughts - her brow had furrowed.

"I do not possess your talent with words, Hanquento, I do not know how to express my love for the Trees and for all things growing in Aman," she confessed.

"We have plenty of time ahead of us and there are a lot of streets in Tirion, I do not doubt you shall find the right words eventually, Maquentë," said Findaráto, extending his arm so she could take it. "And I am sure you won't need my help either."

"You are quite confident, Hanquento," said Amárië, giggling. "Then be ready, it is my turn to talk."

* * *

 **F.A. 541  
**

Amárië and her family had been formally summoned to the halls of King Ingwë where lady Indis was holding her small gathering - the guests were few and closely related to Findaráto - and they were expected there at dusk. The road from their own dwelling was not a long one and so they departed at late afternoon, all clad in pale blue. Some of their neighbors were watching them quietly, as they passed by, yet it was only further up, when they neared the summit of mount Taniquetil, that they soon found they had some unexpected company.

"Ingorion, are you also on your way to lady Indis's dinner?" asked loudly lord Tárano, Amárië's father, as he beheld a tall Elf walking a couple of yards ahead of them.

The Elf turned around and, seeing Amárië and her family, he greeted them warmly.

"As it happens, I am, yes," he said after they had joined him. "Lord Arafinwë was kind enough to presume I might be glad to hear from his son, and from the Noldor who went into exile."

"Would your cousin have been part of lord Findaráto's household then?"

Lord Tárano, despite having nearly been a father-in-law to a Noldorin prince, was not exactly familiar with the Noldorin houses and their numerous lords.

"No, he swore allegiance to lord Turakáno, for we are of Elenwë's kin," explained Ingorion.

He then glanced at Amárië.

"It is a pleasure to see you," he told her, nodding.

Ingorion and Amárië had been acquainted to one another long ago, yet they had become close friends after the Noldor had gone into exile, when they had realized both of them had lost someone dear to Fëanor's folly. While Amárië had grieved for her betrothed, Ingorion had been deeply saddened that his cousin Laurefindil, whom he had loved like a brother, had left Aman, and he had spent much time comforting his aunt and uncle who had not followed their son to Beleriand.

"It is for me too, truly."

"And for me as well!" cried Astarë.

The little one had been holding her parents' hands, but as soon as she had seen Ingorion, she had come by her sister's side, clutching her dresses.

"I am very happy indeed you have been invited to this dinner, Astarë," said Ingorion, bending down so he could pat the child's head. "I'm afraid I do not visit often enough, do I?"

Astarë grinned broadly and she was staring at the Elf with obvious fondness - it was no secret Ingorion was one of her favorite playmate, mostly because she loved to climb on his shoulders and order him around.

"Let me hold you," said Amárië, kneeling down to grab Astarë, "so you won't need raise your head high everytime someone addresses you."

Now that they were in sight of Ingwë's halls, she was starting to feel tensed and she thought having her sister close to her would soothe some of her restlessness.

"You are not so tall yourself," said Astarë, giggling. "I do wonder if I will end up being like you!"

"It is not so bad, is it?" sighed the elder sister, turning towards Ingorion and glancing at him.

"I shan't say a word about all this," he laughed, knowing very well Amárië's short stature was a delicate matter.

"Oh well... should I hand you over to Ingorion, then? Is that what you wish, young lady?"

And Astarë got what she had wanted, perched in Ingorion's arms, while her father walked by their side. Behind them, Amárië managed to smile, despite her growing nervousness, for she was always in a good mood when her little sister jested. Yet her mirth was short-lived, she had just glimpsed five silhouettes standing on the vast terrace, near the gates of the King's dwelling, and one of them was achingly familiar.

"I beg you, take my hand, Mother," she whispered as they moved forward.

"I am right near you, dearest," was lady Calimë's firm reply.

On top of the stairs, lady Indis stood forth, clad in luminous white robes, and an intricate golden circlet adorned her brow. Next were Findis, the lady's eldest child, and lord Arafinwë, whose bright eyes shone with kindness. His wife was slightly behind him, her long silvery hair neatly braided, and she was perhaps the one smiling most earnestly, for her arm was linked to her son's. Findaráto was farthest, yet Amárië saw him first, and saw him only.

The maid had not lied. It was just as if he had never left. Nothing had changed.

His pale golden hair surely was a familiar sight to the Vanyar, yet he was lofty and sturdy, like any prince of Finwë's blood. His grey gaze sparkled brightly, an ever-burning flame was in it, and its light was that of a star. Even his hands, his beautiful hands and his long slender fingers, had remained unchanged and bore no traces of the hardships he had gone through during his years in Beleriand. There he stood, looking as regal as ever, and Amárië, petrified, found herself unable to speak. It did not last long however, for everyone else spoke cheerfully and the parents supplied for their children's lack of words with enthusiastic greetings. For Findaráto too did not utter a word and, after a few moments, he murmured something in his mother's ear and left the terrace, heading into the halls hurriedly.

Amárië had often imagined the two of them would be reunited someday. Mostly, she had pictured that, as she would be walking in a clearing at dawn, or in a forest under the stars, she would see him, standing a few feet ahead of her. At first, she would think he was a dream, a mere fantasy, and she would walk toward him, calling him Ingoldo, like in old times. Yet he, the living miracle, he would simply open his arms and hold her against him, so she would understand all of that was true. And she would hear him whisper 'I love you' in her ear, seconds before his lips would be on hers.

She had never deemed serious her flights of fancy, however reality seemed much bitter as she watched him disappear into the halls - he had fled before her, had he not?

* * *

It'll be mentioned later, but in this story Amárië was quite young when the Trees were killed. In 1493 (years of the trees) she was 17, although it's 17 valian years, so around 163 of our years. In comparison, Finrod was born in 1300 Y.T..

Oh and **Hanquento** would mean 'one who answers' and **Maquentë** 'one who questions'.


	3. The Dinner

**Oleanne:** thanks, I really try to take everything in consideration, but they're quite complex characters to begin with! I put quotation marks this time and I'll edit the previous chapters as well.

I had mentioned him in chapter 2, but Laurefindil is actually Quenya for Glorfindel (who, I assume, had probably some vanyarin blood, like most Noldor who had blonde hair).

And I am really not good at finding titles for chapters, sorry about that.

* * *

 **Chapter 3 - The Dinner  
**

He used to be confident, in front of her. He might even have been cocky at times, because he had been so eager to impress her, and because it had been a game between them also.

However, this time, he found it was a relief that she had been seated far from him, far enough that the possibilities of her addressing him directly were low. Findaráto felt he would not handle it well - at least not in public. Yet ever his eyes kept wandering back on Amárië and a keen longing filled his heart upon gazing at her, a stinging sensation piercing his chest. What could keep her mind busy these days, he had no idea, and that scared him most of all things, but he thought she looked unchanged and that his dear Amárië was still the loveliest creature that walked on Arda.

Findaráto had assumed it might be more reasonable to meet her during a small gathering, while both their families would be present. As he would have never dared summon Amárië in Tirion, his Vanyarin grandmother had been the ideal host for such a reunion, and he had been surprised things had set up so smoothly - till he had seen her, for real. However well-prepared he had thought he had been, Findaráto had been struck to see the sunset glow twinkle in her hair, for, though day and night had been created centuries ago, the two of them had never met under the Sun. In his mind, Valinor and Amárië had thus far been closely associated to the light of the trees.

He was deeply abashed of having dashed in the halls before even having greeted her or her parents. Findaráto could only imagine how she must have been upset herself - he had actually half expected her not to show up, and he would not have blamed her for that - yet it had been an involuntary reaction triggered by the presence of unknown faces next to Amárië.

"Who was the child? And who was carrying her?" he had asked his mother, when lady Eärwen had come after him, worried.

"Have I not told you Amárië has a younger sister? And Ingorion, the cousin of Laurefindil, was the one who held her", had explained lady Eärwen, taking her son's hands in hers. "Your father and I know him to be wise enough no to harrass you with troublesome questions."

"Mother, I cannot..."

"I know, Ingoldo. Few guests have been invited and they can be trusted, is it not what you wished for?"

Findaráto had nodded, but he was still looking troubled.

"Oh, my precious son, I already swore to you she has remained unwed and has turned down every one of her suitors..." whispered lady Eärwen, guessing what could have unsettled Findaráto earlier. "I would surely not have hidden it from you, had she bore the child of another."

"It was foolish of me to leave so abruptly, yet I... I had not realized her sister would be so young... I am still..."

His mother stroked his cheek, tenderly.

"Will you join us for dinner or would rather come down later?"

"I would not disappoint our guests any further."

And there he was, seated between his grandmother and his mother, and he was so absorbed in his thoughts that he could hardly keep up with the conversation.

On both ends of the table presided Ingwë and his son Ingwion, and guests had been placed carefully, Findaráto's family being on one side and Amarië's on the other. In the middle sat Vanyarin Elves of the High King's household and some of them had dwelled in Tirion when lady Indis had been Queen of the Noldor. They were all quite curious about what Findaráto could have to say, yet none would inquire first about what had been going on in Beleriand and so they simply threw stealthy glances at him as they were well enough amazed by his mere presence at their table.

Findaráto was quite oblivious of this awareness, for he had other concerns, most of them he would not share with anyone but his closest kin. And he had inquiries of his own, that needed not being voiced, and, despite his mother's words, he had spotted Amárië's hands first. He had long imagined, while in Beleriand, that she would fall in love with another and get the blissful wedding she deserved. That had seemed only fair. But there were no rings on her fingers, no gold ones, no silver ones, and she sported no necklaces, no earrings and no bracelets either, like always. Findaráto too wore no jewels, and that was very unusual of him, yet his belongings had remained in Nargothrond and were part of a different life, a life that ended for good.

"Should we expect your siblings, or your cousins for that matter, to be reembodied as well, were they to know a fate similar to yours?"

The question was Ingwion's, but he was talking on behalf of everyone, for they all swiftly turned toward Findaráto and all discussions ceased at once. The sudden silence made Findaráto feel uneasy and he strived to come up with a proper answer.

"My case is an exception, and it should not be understand as a rule that the Exiles are to be reembodied after having passed away", he said, chosing carefully his words, "for one's death is like one's birth and one's life, unique."

"Can we not hope to meet them again, then?"

"Be they alive, they are shut from Aman, for they cannot cross the Sea, and have they found death, Mandos and Manwë are to judge their souls", said Findaráto as he felt his mother put a hand on his shoulder. "I suppose they might be allowed to come back in Valinor, at some point, or they might not, for some committed terrible deeds, and they may also refuse to leave the Halls..."

"Why would one refuse to be brought back to life...?" said one of lady Indis's companions, a maiden who happened to be seated right next to Amárië.

Findaráto met her gaze briefly and did his best to focus on his plate afterwards, but he felt her eyes were still on him as he said, in a low voice:

"Love, of course, could lead one to take such a decision."

They all understood he spoke of his grandfather, the old King Finwë, who would not come back among the livings in order for his first wife Miriel to reembodied, yet they were wrong and none except the wisest of heart noticed the sorrow that filled lady Indis, lord Arafinwë and lady Eärwen's eyes.

"My grandson has but few memories of his sojourn in the Halls of Mandos and these he can hardly talk of", said lady Indis, firmly. "I am sure you all understand some things are meant to remain a mystery."

There were a few whispers, but the rest of the dinner was dedicated to less delicate matters. Mostly the Vanyarin were quite concerned with a song one of their poets had composed not so long ago and that had quickly become famous, and so they discussed it over and over, while Findaráto did his best to empty his plate.

By the time everyone was done with their meal and started to scatter in sitting rooms, he had met Amárië's gaze twice more, but had not been able to make out her expression - misgiving, annoyance or her usual curiosity? And as his grandmother and his aunt, the only two people with whom he felt completely comfortable, aside from his parents, were leading him to a nice armchair by a large fireplace, he saw Amárië arm-in-arm with his mother, walking towards one of the courtyards, and after that he had lost sight of both of them. The other guests were as chatty as they had been during the meal, although for the greater part, they avoided Findaráto, fearing he had already grown weary of their company. And he had, indeed, and he started wishing this little gathering would end soon, for he felt there was nothing left for him to do but to nod and smile whenever he was addressed.

"You should go back to your chambers, dear one", suggested lady Indis, as he was yawning for the tenth time at least. "You are needlessly straining yourself."

"It has been a failure... even for you, my Lady."

"I should be glad I have gotten you back, my child", she said, kissing his forehead, "and see it as a sign all my grandchildren will be reunited one day."

"It won't..."

"Go rest, Ingoldo, and do not try to bear all of Arda's misery on your shoulders."

* * *

She was right there, leaning against a column, not far from the private quarters he shared with his parents, and she was staring at a fountain in the gardens whose running water was shimmering under the moonlight. He found her to be exactly like the Amárië of his dreams, the maiden who, for centuries, had lived in his memories solely, and whose thought had never failed to gladden his heart. Now that she was so near, it was rather odd to recall the long afternoons he had spent daydreaming of her as he had gazed at the carvings picturing Valinor, back in Nargothrond. That had been when he had believed they were never to meet again.

"Amárië..." he whispered, softly.

She was anxious, he could see it in the way her eyes had widened when he had pronounced her name, and it saddened him greatly she should feel like this because of him. After all, he was the one who ought apologize for his past deeds, and he was the one who had coldly turned his back on her.

"I thought I could not leave without having greeted you properly", she said. "And your mother told me that if I waited here, you would come by, eventually... I hope I am not being too intrusive, but I..."

"I am afraid my manners have been discourteous this evening", he admitted, his head bent down. "I was far from being an engaging host."

Amárië shook her head.

"No, I reckon it must highly difficult for you to adjust to... to this... It is overwhelming, is it not?"

"I cannot deny it is, though in a pleasant way, mostly", he said, hiding his shaking hands behind his back.

He could not remember having ever felt so utterly nervous.

"Yet I see great sadness in your face", she said, as she raised her eyes to gaze at him.

Findaráto quickly looked elsewhere, although he knew he would not be able to conceal his grief away from her. There was too much of it.

"I found myself to be alone, in a way", he confessed, bashful.

He had shifted closer to her, yet he kept staring at the ground.

"What of... what of your siblings?" asked Amárië, in a voice that was barely audible.

"Artanis is well, very well indeed", he answered. "For the most part she has been dwelling in Doriath, the kingdom of our kinsman, Elu Thingol, and of his wife, the Maia Melian."

"I would have imagined she had stayed by your side, or by your brothers'..."

"She would have", he said, a faint smile curving his lips, "yet she has wedded one of the Sindar, a lord named Celeborn, and she has since stayed with him."

"Has she? This lord Cel... Celeborn...?"

"Celeborn, that would be Teleporno in Telerin."

"Celeborn", repeated Amárië, enunciating the name slowly, with care. "He must be quite an outstanding lord if he managed to catch your sister's heart."

"He is. The people of Doriath lack no greatness."

"Doriath..."

She was aware her 'th' was too soft and that in her mouth 'Doriath' became 'Dorias', but she did not mind, for it made Findaráto smile once again.

"And your brothers, may I ask you about them?"

Amárië had correctly assumed that the matter of Angaráto and Aikanáro would be more painful to tackle and she actually believed they had fallen along with Findaráto, in some terrible battle.

"Have I ever refused to answer any of your questions?" said Findaráto, who now stood beside her, so close that when the night's warm breeze blew, her robes brushed against his legs. "They died, they both died, a dozen of years before I did... Blazing fires poured down from the north and they were on the first line, with their people... I myself could barely escaped alive..."

"Would... would they walk again in Valinor, like you?"

"You would have guessed it is not so simple."

She nodded.

"Angaráto might walk among us again, however how and when, I do not know. Yet Aikanáro, even if given the chance, will not want to be reembodied and we shall be sundered from him until... until the end..."

Amárië gaped and exclaimed:

"Has something terrible befallen him?"

"It was something wonderful, I suppose", let out Findaráto, bluntly, as he scowled.

"I am sorry", said Amárië hastily, as she feared she had just crossed a line. "Perhaps it is time for me to go, you must be exhausted..."

"I do need to rest more often than I used to", he said.

He would have stayed with her longer, in this gentle proximity, but he did not know whether to tell her about this or not. And he was not sure he wanted to talk, he would have simply listened to her breath for that was enough to be reminded she was really there, beside him, and that they were both safe in Valinor.

"Have you considered going to the Gardens of Lórien?" she inquired, pulling away from the column, and from him.

"No... I would not be apart from my parents once more."

They were silent for a while, still avoiding each other's gaze.

"I should leave..." muttered Amárië.

And one last time, wind gusted inside the archway and the tip of her hair tickled the hand he had raised, as if he had meant to stop her. She caught no sight of his gesture and was already a few feet away from him when he said, "Wherever I shall be from now on, you are always welcome to visit, Amárië."

There was a slight hesitation in her steps, yet she did not turn back and soon disappeared in the night.

Findaráto, trembling a bit, was left to ponder alone. There was much he had wanted to speak of with her, although he had to proceed guardedly, or at least he thought so. Amárië hated him not, obviously, but he was still convinced she had not forgiven him entirely for his abrupt departure and he himself had to acknowledge he had been overly hard-hearted during their farewells.

Amárië had meant to follow him into exile and she had argued, begged and cried so he would take her along - he remembered too well she had even fallen on her knees and grasped his clothes. But Findaráto, who had never refused her anything before, had been inflexible and his reasons not to yield had been good ones, he knew. He would have never had Amárië travel to Beleriand when she could so easily stay behind in Valinor and he had thus let her down, for her own good.

Afterwards, he had told no one about it. To his siblings and his cousins, he had simply said Amárië had not been permitted to follow him - which was partly the truth, for King Ingwë had warned the Vanyar not to leave Aman. What he had omitted to mention, though, was that, had he been willing to do it, Amárië could have joined the flight of the Noldor, just like Elenwë had, since she had chosen to go forth with Turakáno and their daughter.

Somehow, his decision had never seemed right to him. It had not been the worst option, yet it had not been the best either. And now that he was offered the chance to explain himself, Findaráto was not sure he had the force to do it. Gloom still overshadowed his mind too often.

* * *

"Amárië, your parents have left earlier", said Ingorion, as he saw her peering around the great hall, where musicians were now entertaining King Ingwë and his household. "Your sister was drowsing, for it seems the poor thing has talked and sung a lot and she overdid herself."

He was grinning and his light hazelnut eyes reflected the flames that burned in the hearth next to which they stood.

"Have they?" whispered Amárië.

She was still looking around, distressed.

"They thought you might end up wanting to stay longer", Ingorion told her, his smile faltering. "Lady Eärwen was confident you..."

He did not finish his sentence, for Amárië had frowned.

"I have already thanked lady Indis for her hospitality", she said, her voice slightly shaking, "there is no reason for me to tarry here."

"Shall I... shall I walk you back home, then?" offered Ingorion, bemused.

"Would you? Would you not have liked to hear about your cousin?"

"I did not expect lord Findaráto to list all of the Noldor who went into exile..." he said, shrugging. "I was merely content to see him with my own eyes."

He had not spent his evening the way Amárië had, but he could surely not admit he was himself quite satisfied with what he had learned, for he had only sought a proof of what the rumours of Findaráto's reembodiement had been about.

"I gather you have spoken with him?" asked Ingorion, while they were exiting the halls of King Ingwë.

Music was echoing in the corridor where candles had been lit at dusk and on the tall walls were painted sceneries of the Undying Lands, yet Amárië was unmoved by her surroundings and Ingorion was tailing her closely, concern with his friend's unhappiness.

"I did."

"On the outside, he is indeed the lord Findaráto we all have known, before the darkness", said Ingorion who tried to sound hopeful, "and you are still Amárië of the Vanyar, are you not?"

"He is Finrod Felagund and has ruled the kingdom of Nargothrond, that lord I am not acquainted with."

She suppressed a sob and Ingorion grabbed her hand.

"Amárië, has he not behaved well with you?"

"He has, of course."

"What of the tears I see shimmering in your eyes?"

The moon was full and its pale shine lighted her face.

"These are not tears of sadness, nor of happiness... For centuries, I yearned to be with him again and now that my wish has been granted I must admit I am overwhelmed", explained Amárië. "I dreamed of it everyday, yet never got ready for it to happen..."

"You were brave to face him today."

"I do not know..." she sighed, wiping away a few tears. "It seems we will have to start everything over and we are both so weary already..."

"Some things cannot be rushed", said Ingorion. "And centuries of absence cannot be forgotten within a fortnight."

"Yet, Ingorion, I am afraid some wounds cannot be mended at all."

She had in mind the days Findárato had spent in Beleriand, and more precisely the loss of his brothers to the fires of the Enemy, and she thought his mourning had barely begun - that would explained this immense sadness she had glimpsed in his gaze.

"Amárië, what of the memories the two of you share? Have they lost their meaning?"

"No... I suppose not..."

"Is there not a particular moment you would like to recall? One that would be worth fighting for?"

"There is... Of course, there is..."

* * *

So, as you might have guessed, the next chapter will be one long flashback. I had planned to insert it, at least partially, in this chapter, but it ended being longer than I had planned.


	4. Merrymakings

And here we go, back when everyone was happy and carefree.

* * *

 **Chapter 4 - Merrymakings  
**

 **Y.T. 1494**

Every year, a harvest festival was held in Aman and on this occasion, Elves gathered in the lofty halls of Manwë or in the sumptuous streets of Valimar. It was on the central place of the city of many bells that Amárië was to dance there, with a group of young Vanyarin Elves, as part of the shows the Eldar loved to stage for the Valar. Maidens oft took great delight in these performances and those of the fair folk were the most gracious dancers, swift and lithe like leaves in the wind. And when Amárië had mentioned this little event to Findaráto, because she wondered if her skills were good enough to be displayed in front of the Valië Nessa herself, he had immediately said he would go see her, instead of spending the day with his family.

They had agreed to meet beforehand, alongside the western gates of the city, from where the Ezellohar and the Trees were nearest. The numerous bells of Valimar were ringing in great choirs, summoning the Elves and the Maiar to the festivities, and from everywhere in Valinor and Tol Eresseä they gathered, dressed in their finest garments, laughing and singing as they came. And among the crowd, there was her, Amárië of the Vanyar, a little jewel shining brightly, whose white vaporous dresses were adorned with crystals and whose long wavy hair seemed to be absorbing the light of Laurelin.

"Amárië, you look positively radiant...!" exclaimed Findaráto and it seemed to him he had never had a proper look at her before, otherwise he surely would have noticed how stunning her beauty was.

"You are quite elegant yourself, Findaráto", she blurted.

He was her good friend, one with whom she had spent many days walking and discussing, yet suddenly she felt shy and she blushed when his sparkling gaze met hers. Findaráto was dazzling, clad in a pale blue suit covered with embroideries and gemstones, and he wore a golden circlet, as well as some of these necklaces and rings his people took so much pride in crafting. Every one of his moves was instantly followed by hundreds of little flickers, but he was unaware of his own lordliness, as he smiled, absentmindedly. He was staring at her in amazement and Amarië had to make a huge effort to find something to say, for this silence between them was unbearable to her.

"Shall we go?" she asked, at last.

This was a very short, a very simple question, not at all like those Findaráto was used to hear from her, but it shook him out of his daze and he grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently. And as she followed him into the city, Amarië wondered if his skin had always been so warm and soft.

Neither of them paid much attention to the busy atmosphere that prevailed on feast days in Valimar for they both were absorbed by their own thoughts, upon the realization that their friendship had shifted to a tenderer and stronger feeling - love had grown between them and it finally had bloomed.

"You still won't call me Ingoldo", he said at some point, as they walked slowly through the streets.

He had told her he would happy if she were to use his mother-name instead of his father-name, like all his close friends did, but Amárië, even though she had agreed to it, seemed to have forgotten about it already.

"I fancy more Hanquento, for some reasons."

He burst in laughters.

"Oh, you cannot use this one today."

"Why so?"

"I bid my brothers and my sister to come see you as well and should they discover that we made these names for ourselves, I'm afraid we might never hear the end of it!"

"Is that so silly, then?"

It was true they had kept these nicknames to themselves, but it had never crossed Amárië's mind it might be embarrassing for Findaráto to be called 'Answer' in front of others.

"No, you really are Maquentë, and I do try to be Hanquento, as much as I can", said Findaráto. "Yet this is something between you and me, something I'd rather not share with anyone else, not because I am ashamed of it, but because it is dear to me."

They were just a few steps from the Great Place, where Amárië would dance with her Vanyarin fellows, but they had stopped and, oblivious of the crowd surrounding them, they were gazing at each other. Findaráto had forgotten about the show, for he only cared about Amárië and her blue eyes, that shone brighter than any jewel.

"Ingoldo! Over here!"

The shout startled them both and Amárië, flustered, stepped back, although she had no reasons to be nervous around Angaráto, who was the one heading toward them, smiling and waving at them. He was soon followed by Aikanáro and Artanis, and all the siblings were equally sophisticated and radiant, in their pale clothings, and they drew many curious looks from the bystanders.

Amárië was well acquainted with them already, yet there was something special in the air that day, and she found herself at loss for words, once again. She could only marvel at them, at how tall they were and how mighty they seemed, and Artanis no less than her brothers. It was her, more than anyone else, who made Amárië suddenly feel conscious about herself - by all standards, she was short, and though it bothered her at times, she had not yet been this embarrassed by her small stature. It was almost painful to have to raise her head high to greet them and she unconsciously stayed a little behind.

"I do not know why, but Amárië's tongue seems to be tied today", was saying Findaráto, whose mood was excellent. "But I suppose she is anxious about her upcoming performance."

He gave her hand a squeeze as he smiled at her.

"I do not possess any special talent at dancing", said Amárië, shaking her head. "I merely follow the moves of others."

"Your flowers, they've slipped", muttered Findaráto as he adjusted a few of the lilies that had been entwined in her braids.

His fingers lingered longer than necessary in her hair and never had Amárië blushed so deeply.

"I should go, the others will be waiting for me", she said before disappearing in the crowd, nimbly.

Upon seeing Findaráto's disappointed expression, Angaráto and Artanis giggled happily, and even the kind-hearted Aikanáro felt an urge to laugh, although his face remained still.

"We shall have to make our way to the front row, it seems!" said Artanis.

"Ingoldo could not suffer to be sundered from his beloved Amárië too long!" added Angaráto, patting his brother's back.

* * *

"It is outrageous."

"What is outrageous?" sighed Findaráto, lazily.

He was lost in contemplation and all he could care for were the music, the dance, and Amárië. And whatever comment Angaráto wished to make, he could keep to himself.

"The way you are staring at her. One would think your eyes are about to roll out of their orbits."

"What eyes were made for but to admire beautiful things?" retorted Findaráto, shrugging. "And this is what this dance is... beautiful."

Angaráto sneered.

"The dance is beautiful, really? What of the dancers? I had gathered you had a favorite one, have you not?"

"Ingoldo fancies himself to be good at concealing his thoughts and feelings", spoke in Artanis, who was grinning, "and he genuinely believes none of us has noticed he has fallen head over heels for Amárië."

Findaráto felt slightly vexed.

"I never tried to deny my love for her, I simply did not know it was there."

Angaráto and Artanis were both chuckling, but Aikanáro, as always, did his best to help his elder brother.

"Even the wisest can be befuddled by love" he said, and glancing at Artanis he added, "You too one day might find you've grown especially fond of one of your friends."

Their sister pouted, for she had yet to meet her match among the Eldar, she thought.

"I cannot recall having been confused when I first saw Eldalótë", said Angaráto. "It hardly could have been plainer we were to wed one day."

"Then you are the litter's cleverest pup, indeed", snapped Findaráto whose eyes were still on Amárië.

"This is obviously a show he would rather enjoy alone", stated Aikanáro as he gently pushed Artanis and Angaráto away.

"Why bidding us to come, then?" complained the latter.

"It seems he enjoys being teased."

"Perhaps", said Aikanáro, hastening their retreat, after seeing that Findaráto was growing more and more annoyed. "I heard Findekáno would be by the Trees today, should we not join the merrymaking they're holding there?"

Artanis was not hard to convince and, linking her arm to her brother's, she waved goodbye to Findaráto, laughing happily. Angaráto remained behind for a few seconds, torn between the desire to taunt his elder brother a bit more and the will to congratulate him, somehow.

"Do not forget to blink once in a while", he said, ruffling quickly his brother's hair before running away.

* * *

After the Vanyarin maidens' dance was over, music went on and dancers twirled gracefully yet again, as their limbs knew no weariness, for among them had come the Valië Nessa and her light-footed Maiar, chuckling and cheering. Soon a sweet merriness warmed the heart of the whole crowd and such was the talent of Nessa, whose house was ever filled with laughter, that all felt compelled to join the dance. They swayed around the fountains of the Great Place, flowers in their hair, and soon a gleeful song rose, and it was on the lips of everyone.

Yet Amárië was not singing and, feeling a bit dizzy, she was peering around, tossed by her Vanyarin companions. He found her first though, and, putting his hands on her shoulders, he pulled her out of the crowd, withdrawing in a quiet nook.

"You were lovely. The loveliest one out here, I daresay", he whispered in her ear.

Amárië quickly spun around to face Findaráto who was smiling at her fondly, as he wrapped both his arms around her waist.

"You won't talk, will you?" he asked, running his fingers up and down on her back.

"I cannot concentrate if you stare at me like this", she muttered, timid.

Findaráto chuckled and he leaned forward her slowly, tilting his head on one side. Amárië closed her eyes when she felt his lips press against hers - their kiss was tender and a bit clumsy perhaps, because they had long dream of it.

"Ingoldo, there are people around... your siblings, they..."

"Was it not pleasant?"

"Very" she admitted, in a low voice.

Findaráto was more than ready for a second round, diving for another kiss, but Amárië had taken a deep breath and she said, louder than what she would have wished for:

"I love you, Ingoldo! And by this I do not mean I grew fond of you as a friend, but that I have fallen in love you - most completely!"

Her cheeks had gone a deep shade of red, but she was looking straight at him and Findaráto found her so endearing at that moment he had to fight the urge to laugh and cover her face with kisses.

"Why, there is no reason to behave so fearfully with me, Amárië", he said, bending his head down so their foreheads would touch. "For I love you too. I adore you. Or would you rather have me say that I cherish you, or that I treasure you?"

They kissed again, ardently, as the feast was still going on, not so far from them.

"With people like you, it is hard to know for sure", said Amárië when she could catch her breath. "You are friendly with everyone, and care for all, and sometimes one can perceive love when there is, in fact, only friendliness."

"Oh, but I think we never were friends, my dear Amárië! We were lovers from the start, were we not?"

"Perhaps."

She had to stand on the tip of toes for her lips to reach his and it made Findaráto giggle.

"I love you, Amárië."

"I love you, Ingoldo."

* * *

 **A few weeks later**

"Kiss me, please."

"They could see us, they only went to the sunroom..."

"It would not surprise them, Amárië, they would expect it by now."

"I am far too nervous to kiss you!"

"My lips are itching."

"Ingoldo, it is an important day, what if..."

"They will agree. They have no reasons not to."

"Do you think so?"

"Of course. So please, kiss me."

"Ingoldo..."

Amárië was still hesitant, yet Findaráto made no move, patiently waiting for her to come to him - he knew very well she would in the end. They were sitting on thick grass, in the vast gardens that surrounded her parents' house, and she had insisted on keeping what she had called a 'proper space' between them, so that only their hands touched. Amárië was not especially demure and Findaráto never had need to coax in order to get a mere kiss, save that usually they were not within eyesight of their parents while the latter were discussing their children's wish to wed.

"Amárië, worry not", whispered Findaráto, as he cupped her face to remind her of his previous request.

She leaned toward him and all he had to do was to bend his head for their lips to meet. It was a chaste kiss at first, because Amárië was too aware of her surroundings to relax, but Findaráto was eager and had no intentions of letting her go. Grabbing her by the waist, he drew her closer to him, slowly and carefully, so she would not notice their 'proper space' was soon reduced to nothing.

"Is it not my father coming our way?" he exclaimed at some point, opening an eye as he stopped his motion suddenly.

Startled, Amárië pushed him away and, glancing nervously toward her house, she quickly smoothed her dresses. But, in the gardens, no one was to be seen, and as she heard Findaráto's laughter, she realized lord Arafinwë was still in the sunroom, with his wife and her own parents.

"You are surprisingly easy to tease, my dear Amárië", said Findaráto, pulling her back against him, nuzzling her hair.

"I trust you Ingoldo, how could I believe you would play with me like this?" she complained, pretending to be offended.

Yet Amárië had wrapped her arms around his neck and, forgetting about her initial reluctance, she tilted her head backwards to allow him access to her throat. Relishing her surrender, Findaráto covered her skin with little kisses and he went further down, enticed by her sweet smell. When his mouth reached her collarbone, he heard her sigh and that made him bolder, for he laid her down on the grass and kissed her.

"I found a new name for you", he told her, as he ran his fingers along the curves of her body. "A name that is far better than what I have come up with so far."

"What could be truer than Maquentë?" asked Amárië who shivered under his caresses.

"Mírimë."

"Mírimë?"

"Are you disappointed perhaps?"

"No..." said Amárië, stroking his cheeks. "Shall I be known as Findaráto's Mírimë then?"

"You are my Mírimë indeed", he said, before giving her another long and languid kiss.

"And what is the other half of the set?"

Findaráto rolled onto side, leaning on his elbow.

"It is up to you to come up with it", he answered as he stared at her, a playful gleam in his eyes.

"What could suit you better than Ingoldo? To me you are the only Noldo, and the wisest", said Amárië, huddling herself against him.

"That was nicely worded, dearest, yet I expect another name from you."

"A name, a song, a lay... What else would please you, my Lord?"

Findaráto grinned and tightened his embrace around her.

"I dare not tell you out loud", he breathed in her ear.

"Ingoldo, you-"

"My Lady, my Lord, I am afraid I have to... disturb you...", they heard someone said, behind them. "Yet your parents have summoned you inside the house."

A servant was standing a few steps away from them and he was staring at the ground, bashful. Upon seeing him, Findaráto sprang on his feet fast, and Amárië was faster, and she dared not even hold his hand as they made their way back to the house.

"They certainly have seen us..."

"They might."

"I wish I could be as collected as you are, Ingoldo."

"I am sure they are already discussing the details of our betrothal feast, Mírimë."

It was the first time their parents met under such official circumstances and if Findaráto was confident everyone would rejoice upon the news of their betrothal, Amárië, on the other hand, could not help but be a bit anxious. She knew her parents held Findaráto in high regard, as well as the house of Finarfin in general, yet her father was wary of some of the Noldor, those who had begun crafting weapons and those who had gone to Formenos with Fëanáro. Lord Tárano had already hinted that he would rather have his daughter dwell on the Taniquetil, nearer Manwë and Varda, than in Tirion, where Melkor had lurked awhile. However he had never tried to separate Amárië from Findaráto and had even welcomed warmly lord Arafinwë and lady Eärwen under his roof.

"My father is not very well acquainted with your folk, nor your family", said Amárië as they neared the sunroom. "He might just have been bothering your parents with endless inquiries...".

"It does sound like a situation I am highly familiar with", said Findaráto, chuckling.

He stopped at the doorstep, offering her his hand.

"Are you ready, lovely one?"

"I am", she nodded, entwining her fingers in his.

Amárië had indeed been needlessly worried, for their parents had formally consented to their betrothal and they rapidly had come up with a date for the feast - and yes, Amárië's father had had a lot questions concerning lord Arafinwë's kin.

From this day on, Amárië did become known as Findaráto's Mírimë and by the time their engagement was celebrated in due forms, he had come up with other names he loved to call her, and Mintië and Aiwë especially were among his favorites. Amárië, on the other hand, sticked to Ingoldo, although she still called him Hanquento, at times, or Ingolmo when she meant to jest. Her love for Findaráto was less demonstrative, however she was entirely his and, even though she liked to challenge his ideas, she thought him the wisest and smartest of the Eldar. Amárië looked upon him and admired him most of all and, before darkness came, it never crossed her mind the trust she had placed him could be breached.

* * *

I'm not sure I handled that last part so well, but the more I reread, the less it made sense haha.

 **Mírimë** means something like "very valuable, very precious, very lovely", **Mintië** means "small" and **Aiwë** , "Small bird". Finrod had so many names himself, I can picture him coming up with a new name for Amárië every now and then. Oh and although I've alluded to Amárië's short height, she's not tiny either. I guess she is still around 5'10"/slightly less than 1, 80m.


	5. Nightfall

**Laerthel** : Thank you very much! I hope you'll like what's coming next!

It ended up being the shortest chapter so far, but then there's everything in there that I wanted to put. Next chapter should be more packed haha.

* * *

 **Chapter 5 - Nightfall**

 **F.A. 541 - Taniquetil**

The Moon was out and Findaráto thought the night was a beautiful one. He walked down the slopes of the Taniquetil, following the road along which the Vanyar had hung small lanterns that swayed in the summer breeze. Through green foliage and flowery bushes, he sometimes caught glimpse of glimmering dwellings and songs sung by clear voices joined the gentle rustling of leaves whenever he crossed the path of other Elves. Birds were sleeping, but the forest and the clearings were alive with the lights of campfires and of fireflies and it seemed darkness itself was warm and comforting.

It was the first time Findaráto was out unaccompanied, ever since he had been allowed to walk once more in the blessed lands, and he had left the halls of Ingwë at dusk, for he would not have risked himself in broad daylight. At night, he was just another Elf, wandering on the mountain, and none would suspect him to be this Noldorin Prince who had been brought back from the dead. At night, he was just a tall silhouette, with golden hair, like any other of the Vanyar, and he knew it would be simpler to take her on a stroll if the stars shone brightly above their heads. Three days had passed since the dinner and Findaráto had come to the conclusion that there was no need for complicated setups with her, if he wanted to meet her again.

Amárië's house had been fashioned in the clean and refine style Vanyar loved most - they rarely bothered with carvings and other artificial embellishments - yet it was covered in great part by ivy and its slate roof, by moss. Plants of all sorts grew happily around it and pots of varying sizes had been placed on the steps that lead to the main doors, and the smell of flowers and of moist soil pleasantly tickled Findaráto's nose. When his hand grabbed the brass knob, he felt quite serene.

"Lord Findaráto...! How good to see you!", said the housekeeper, slightly bewildered. "However, I... Well, I'm afraid Amárië is not here, she has gone out in the woods."

"Has she?" Findaráto, crestfallen, glanced at the garden's edge.

"Should I convey her a message from your part, upon her return, my Lord?"

"Perhaps, yet I..." his voice trailed. "Would you know if she will be away long?"

"We expect her to be back at dawn, before her sister awakes."

"Is that so..." whispered Findaráto. He had no wish to turn back already and, wondering if he should simply spend the night walking around, he thanked the housekeeper, bowing his head.

"Shall you simply wait for my daughter to be back here, in our gardens?" a voice said, behind him. "I recall you used to enjoy spending time here, Findaráto, especially in summer."

Amárië's father, lord Tárano, stood down a few steps and he was holding a watering can made of fine glass - he was the one who was especially fond of botany, in the family.

"I realize I should not have come unexpected, lord Tárano," apologized Findaráto.

"You need not worry, you are no stranger to this place, after all," said Amárië's father who looked intently at the Noldorin prince. "And not to me either."

His eyes were pale blue, like his daughter's, and his expression, neither hostile, neither reproachful.

"Yet you could resent me, my Lord, for what the Noldor have done," said Findaráto, shifting down the stairs. "And for what I—"

"I bear the house of Finwë no ill," stated lord Tárano, shaking his head, "and, the truth is... I ought thank you, Findaráto."

"Do you?"

Findaráto blinked, but lord Tárano was serious and he put down his watering can, before examining the small yellow flowers of a mimosa that had just bloomed. Then he straightened, and he was about the same height as Findaráto, which was considerably tall, even for a Vanya.

"Had you not opposed it, my daughter would have gone into exile along with you and your people," he said, in a low voice, "and what else but grief and bitterness awaited the Eldar in Beleriand? I was far from being pleased your parting had left her heartbroken, however I knew very well how miserable my wife and I would have felt, if she had departed. It might have been selfish, but Amárië too would have withered, in the end..."

Findaráto remained silent, but the corner of his eyes burned and the tip of his fingers quivered. He held not well his tears, since he was alive again - in that aspect he thought he had gone back to being a child, and it exasperated him.

"I meant not to be harsh, Findaráto," said lord Tárano, softly, "for I am truly glad to see you among us again. And so is my daughter, do believe me."

"Your words flatter me highly, lord Tárano."

Amárië's father nodded and smiled.

"Please, have a look at the garden," he insisted. "I surely have not been idle all these years and worked hard to improve it."

"I will, then."

"And Amárië always comes back through there, when she goes on her walks."

And so Findaráto did as he was bid, quite willingly, and he had not been alone for long before he found his favorite stone bench, the one that overlooked on a magnificent flowerbed. There he could have waited forever.

* * *

"Lord Findaráto, what are you doing in our gardens?"

A tiny silhouette had appeared in front of him and he recognized instantly the round pink cheeks and the pale blonde curls of Astarë, Amárië's younger sister.

"I am merely dreaming..." he said, smiling. "And you, young Lady, I have been told you were asleep, yet I find you wide awake!"

Astarë shrugged, a little mischievous.

"I heard you when you spoke with Father," she explained.

"Have I woken you up perhaps? I am sorry I came so late."

"It is not so surprising to see you at this time of the day," said Astarë, "And I am glad we get this opportunity to talk."

She was an adorable little thing, clad in a frilly white dress, and, looking at her, Findaráto could not help but wonder if a child of his and of Amárië's would have been so lovely.

"Have you got any inquiries, Astarë?"

"Would you let me sit beside you, lord Findaráto?"

"Of course."

Astarë settled on the bench, hands neatly folded on her lap, and for a moment she gazed at the grass.

"Amárië and I barely have any secrets for one another," she spoke at last, "or at least I am too young to have secrets of my own and she always answers my questions as honestly as she can... However I know there are things she conceals from me. Some matters I am too young to understand, some matters she does not like being mentioned..."

"What is it that you would like to know, Astarë?"

"Tell me, was not my sister your betrothed at the time your folk went into exile? Why has she not followed you, then?"

Findaráto had expected such questions, but it was still difficult to come up with the right answer, and he sighed, running his hands across his face.

"You already have heard many stories of the darkening of Valinor, I presume?"

Astarë nodded, gravely.

"I have one more for you, then. For I was in the Halls of Manwë, the day the Trees died, and Amárië was with me, celebrating what we thought would be a reconciliation between the Noldor, and especially between my uncles."

"Mother and Father told me they had gone to the festivities too."

"They did, and many fair folk had gathered on the Taniquetil, Eldar and Ainur alike."

"And so Amárië was with you?"

"She was, yes."

* * *

 **Y. T. 1495 - Ilmarin, Halls of Manwë and Varda**

Findaráto and his father stood next to each other, not so far from Manwë's throne, and they were watching the crowd, in silence. Music filled the lofty halls and, for the most part, the Eldar enjoyed the festivities, especially those who really did believe the reconciliation would last.

Lord Arafinwë had long understood he would never win Fëanáro's affection and he had stopped wasting energy trying to gain his esteem well before the exile in Formenos. And when his father had decided not to show up at this feast, he had also realized Finwë would always love Fëanáro most, yet that did not bother him either, for he still had his mother, his own family and his wife's as well - the sons of Olwë were as dear to him as real brothers. But he worried about Nolofinwë and he pitied him too, he who had put all his heart in the words he had spoken to Fëanáro, he who ever struggled to get their father's acknowledgement.

"Our people have been reconciled, it should be enough a reason to celebrate," said Findaráto, at last, seeing that is father's mood was a little melancholic.

"I am as happy as they are", was lord Arafinwë's firm reply.

"Your smile has slightly waned, Father."

Lord Arafinwë glanced at his son, who was grinning - this one was a merry fellow, for certain.

"My smile could hardly be broader than yours, Ingoldo," he said, chuckling softly. "And I gather your mirth has little to do with the presence of your uncle."

He could see Amárië, among a group of singing Vanyarin Elves, who were all wearing garlands in their hair, and he had not failed to notice his son kept looking at them, in expectancy.

Findaráto shrugged. "I love my cousins. All of them," he said, genuinely. "And seeing the sons of Fëanáro in these halls gladdens my heart."

Of Fëanáro himself, he would seldom talk. He knew his sister despised him, yet he, like his father, was not so prone to enmity and he did really love his Fëanorian cousins, the seven of them, and they loved him back as well, in their own way. And perhaps he admired Fëanáro's skills greatly, far more than he would have liked to admit.

"Why would you not join their dances, then?" asked lord Arafinwë.

"I would rather wait for Amárië to—"

He had stopped abruptly in mid-sentence, like everything else that was going on in the halls had stopped, in a mere second. Singing voices had faded, dancers had frozen and the Eldar all held their breath in unison, for they all were all equally shocked and bewildered. After a minute or so had passed, and that the horrible reality of their situation had sank in their hearts, a few shrieks were heard, and weeping sounds, then names were called and shouted, as everyone had instantly started seeking their loves ones in a tumult none would have thought possible _before_.

In the blink of an eye, the silvery and golden lights of the Trees had turned off and even the Ainur were taken aback.

Shadow had fallen on Valinor. Somehow.

"Amárië! Amárië, can you hear me?"

Soon Findaráto's voice joined those of others.

Amárië had not been far from him and, once his eyes had accustomed to the gloom, it was not difficult to find her, as she had not moved from her spot, while her Vanyarin companions had scattered the moment darkness had overwhelmed the halls.

"Amárië, I'm here!" He caught her in his arms, burying his face in her soft hair.

"What happened to the Trees...?" she muttered, stunned. "What could possibly have happened to the Trees...?"

Tears were streaming down her eyes, yet she was oddly still and she had not had any reactions when he had drawn her against him.

"I do not know..." Findaráto was rubbing her back, as to soothe her, however he was the one who tried to find any comfort he could. "But you need not be scared, there is no reason to be afraid of anything, in the presence of Manwë and Varda..."

"Yet _I am scared_ , Ingoldo," she confessed, stifling a sob. "Something terrible has befallen us... Oh so terrible... There is no more light!"

He found he could not reply to this. Any reassuring words would have been lies, he knew.

"Stay by my side," he told her, in a low voice, his lips brushing her forehead softly. "Stay together, that is all we can do for now..."

At least, he wanted to feel the warmth of her body against his. It helped him overcome the sudden fright that had seized him when the light of the Trees had vanished and it kept at bay a strong sense of foreboding, one like he had never felt before.

And so they were locked in their embrace, for a while, and there was not much they could have said or done, as the crowd around them was moving around, for panic had spread among the Eldar. and the Valar themselves had sensed something utterly terrible had struck their realm.

At length, a great uproar was heard down the halls, near the gates, and it made its way up to the thrones of Manwë and Varda. The words echoed against the tall walls of Ilmarin and flew from one Elf to another faster than the hawks and the eagles who had been coming back and forth under the dome ever since the darkening.

"Finwë is dead! The king of the Noldor has been slain!"

Still pressed against Amárië, Findaráto stiffened. Had not his grandfather stayed in Formenos, instead of attending the High Feast...

"Ingoldo... What could have...?"

Amárië had raised her head, casting him an anxious look. But before he could say, his father emerged from the crowd and a deep sorrow had quenched his usually bright gaze.

"There was a messenger from Formenos, your grandfather, he..." Lord Arafinwë lowered his head, his face strained and sinister. "He was slain, indeed. By Melkor..." he added, muttering.

Findaráto pulled apart from Amárië, yet she felt him shudder. She meant to hug him again, to grab his hands at least, however lord Arafinwë had stepped forward and he held his son by the shoulders.

"We will head back to Tirion, you would imagine there are... several matters we have to deal with."

Lord Arafinwë stroked Findaráto's cheek with the back of his hand, wiping away a tear, and he then turned his attention to Amárië who was terrified to see them both so grieved.

"Amárië, if you wish, you may—"

"Go seek your parents, Amárië," Findaráto cut in, a bit harshly, "and do not leave their side."

"Ingoldo," she protested, "Why would I not—"

"I will come meet you, once we have sorted out what happened. I promise."

"But—"

"Trust me, it will be better for you to stay on the mountain," said Findaráto. His tone was gentler, yet it was clear there was no room for discussion. "Wait for me, please."

And, as lord Arafinwë had turned, to give them so privacy, Findaráto leaned to kiss her goodbye, swiftly.

* * *

 **F.A. 541**

"And so Amárië stayed on the Taniquetil?"

"She did, and I, I found great turmoil in Tirion, once I had gone down on Túna."

"Did you know then you would leave Aman?"

"No, I would have never imagined... No."

"They say you were at the rear of the host, with your father."

"I was. I long look back at the fading lights of Tirion, at the Mindon Eldaliéva... yearning for it, already."

"And for Amárië?"

"Also."

"You did say farewell to her, did you not?"

"I came one last time here, indeed. She was standing on one of the belvederes, in this very garden, waiting for me to arrive... It never crossed her mind I would not show up, for she had faith in me, wholly."

* * *

I do pity Fingolfin in a way, he seems to be the one who suffered most from their family feuds and he really did his best to get along with Fëanor. And he would have suffered a lot that Finwë chose to follow Fëanor in exile...

Anyways, next chapter is their their farewell scene!


	6. Farewell

**Danbolz** : Thank you! I'm glad the story triggered your interest!

I think men in general, whether they're High Elves or mere mortals, don't speak much when they have to say farewell/ditch someone haha. I picture Finrod would just hold everything in and wait for it to end, in a way, although it ended being a more complex dialogue (well, I was never dumped by a girl, so I wouldn't know what women usually do in those situations).

* * *

 **Chapter 6 - Farewell  
**

 **Y.T. 1496**

Findaráto had been away in Tirion for weeks, but in this short span of time more had happened than in his entire life, or so it seemed, and he felt a heavy burden weighed on his shoulders, and he was weary. He brought no good tidings with him - surely rumors of what had been going on in the city of the Noldor had made its way to the Taniquetil, and he would only have to confirm most of it. And when he saw her, pacing on the belvedere, her long dark blonde hair flowing behind her,obviously waiting for him, his heart sank in his chest. Yet he rushed to meet her.

As soon as she caught sight of his silhouette, through the trees, she darted across the gardens and flung herself on him, sliding her arms around his neck. He held her tightly, his hands pressing on her skin, and he kissed her at once, in a rough manner. She was surprised, for his body felt hard, his skin, cold, and it was unlike him not to greet her, or not to tell her few sweet words, before doing anything else.

"Oh, Ingoldo," said Amárië, in a muffled voice, her lips moving against his, "I knew you would not take part in such a dangerous venture."

Findaráto did not answer, he was still very focused on kissing her, intensely. She could feel his fingers digging in her back and he hugged her with such strength that it became painful for Amárië to be squeezed like that.

"Ingoldo, it hurts," she managed to whisper, between two kisses. "You need not..."

But his mouth silenced her and Amárië grew suddenly afraid, for it was obvious something was wrong. Awfully wrong.

"Ingoldo..." she said again, struggling to make him loosen his grasp.

She wriggled, dodging his eager lips, and her agitation seemed to shake Findaráto out of his frenzy. He released her, but his hands still cupped her face and he covered her forehead and her hair with little kisses, before finally speaking.

"Amárië, I will leave Aman."

His words were such an unexpected blow, that she broke away from him, thunderstruck.

"Ingoldo, how can you believe it is a wise decision?" she blurted. "What does it bring you, to defy the Valar?"

Findaráto heaved a sigh, but he looked straight at her. "Wise... Of course it is not wise... it is anything but wise, yet they are my kin and my folk, and I shall not be sundered from them."

Amárië blinked, her chin trembling, and soon tears began to roll down her eyes.

"I cannot follow you, Ingoldo... I have been forbidden to do so... King Ingwë himself forbade us to join the Noldor..." she muttered as she whimpered. "I cannot follow you..."

She had grabbed his clothes and, as she had her head bent down, her forehead leaned on his chest.

"What am I to do without you, Ingoldo?"

Findaráto, who was usually so proud of his gift for speeches, gaped, but could not find his voice. He was no fool, he had not expected it to be a smooth discussion, yet it was a truly horrible sight to see her cry - because of him. Despite his urge to kiss her again, he merely wrapped his arms around her and he wound his hand in her hair, inhaling her fresh scent. He felt her shiver against him and, however tender his embrace was, it seemed it was not in his power to ease her sorrow.

"I cannot follow you," Amárië repeated in a shaky voice, " I cannot follow you... unless... unless we were to wed."

Findaráto straightened, alarmed.

"Amárië, it is not—"

"Were we married, I would become a Noldorin lady, I would be part of your folk!" she insisted, suddenly exalted. "And I could follow you to Beleriand!"

"No, listen—"

"There is no need for us to be apart, Ingoldo! Elenwë is allowed to leave with Turukáno, after all."

"I will not wed you, Amárië!" he exclaimed, harshly. "I will not!"

Once again, she pulled away, taking a few steps back. Her dresses and her hair was now in a mess and she shot him a look full of anguish.

"Why so?" she cried. "Are we not betrothed? Have we not already pledged our love to one another? It was simply the matter of a few months before we were to become husband and wife..."

"Amárië, I will not wed you," Findaráto repeated, sadder than ever. "For, even if you were my wife, even if those rings we wear were made of gold, you would still be one of the Fair Folk, one of those who love most Valinor..."

He tried to grab of one of her hand, but she avoided his touch, swiftly.

"Do you not love me?" she asked, in a very calm, very serious voice.

"I love you, my dear Mírimë, I love you!" he said, earnestly, as he moved forward, "I love you too much to force you into this perilous journey..."

Findaráto stood with arms wide open, hoping to hold her against him once more, but Amárië kept her distance, stubborn.

"You should know by now I am willing to stay by your side whether it is here, or there, on the other side of the Great Sea."

It hurt him to hear these words, for he had been tempted to offer her to follow him, if she would, and this dilemma had tormented him greatly over the last weeks. Yet he had never imagined Amárië would so vehemently plead with him.

"No, my love, I won't let you come with me, this exile will be dangerous, deadly perhaps..." He was almost begging her. "There is no way I would put you at risk."

"If you are so unsure about the fate of your people, and yours, why would leave then?"

"My loyalty lies with them...", said Findaráto, knowing very well this answer would not satisfy her the least bit. Yet it was the truth, he belonged to the house Finwë, above everything else, and if prominence had its good sides, great duties came with it as well.

His mind wavered for a moment, as he toyed one last time with the crazy idea of taking her along with him, but he reminded himself he could not drag her into this. He was resolved. He would save Amárië, despite herself, he would spare her a life of hardships - for he thought, quite rightly, that a war against Melkor would be bloody and cruel.

"Amárië, there is one last thing I have to tell you..." he said, at length, shifting toward her. "It would be better if... if our betrothal was cancelled."

A flash of horror crossed her face, as Findaráto gently took her hand, putting his silver ring in her palm.

"You-You cannot give it back to me, you ca-cannot", Amárië stuttered, crying hard. "What of... what of..."

She sniffed, rubbing her red-rimmed eyes with the back of her hands.

"Do you not love me...?"

Pity filled Findaráto's heart upon meeting her gaze, for she suddenly looked so lost, so confused and so fragile. His poor Amárië was trembling from head to toe and in that very moment nothing mattered more to him than her - he put his arms around her, pressing her firmly against his chest.

"Oh Amárië, dearest Amárië, I love you more than my own life and you are too precious to me to be thrown in a fight you are not involved in! Were I to love you less, taking you along with me might seem a sensible option, yet—"

"But, Ingoldo, I am involved!" she countered, still weeping. "My heart is yours, wholly yours, and I am your betrothed, therefore if you go, I go too, whatever shall befall us afterwards!"

"No, Amárië, no...", he mumbled, his lips brushing against her forehead.

"Why won't you let me go with you?" she moaned, and Amárië slid down, letting herself fall on her knees. She clutched miserably at his coat.

"You will be happier if you stay in Aman, of that I am sure," said Findaráto, as he desperately tried to lift her from the ground. "I meant for you to be free, for I... I do not know if we will be given the chance to meet again and I would not be an obstacle for you, were you wishing to wed another, one day."

"Is that really what you think of me?" she sobbed. "Have I given any reason to believe me fickle and weak of heart?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then do you plan to marry someone, in Beleriand? Would that help you ensure an alliance with the Grey Elves perhaps?" she exclaimed angrily, as she got up on her own, persisting on ignoring his attempts to help her.

"You misunderstood my intentions, Mírimë, I—"

"Do not call me this!"

"Amárië—"

"Have it!" she cried, pulling off her ring. "Have it and do whatever you want with it!" And she glanced at his hands, adorned with his usual jewels, and added, in a bitter tone, "Unlike you, it was the only piece of jewelry I wore everyday..."

Findaráto would have told her his betrothal ring was worth more to him than all his other belongings put together, but he knew she was in no state to understand this.

"Keep them, Amárië, and it will be up to you to decide if you want to have them melted or not," he said, wretched "yet for my part I shall remain wifeless, for you, and only you, will I ever love."

Amárië's brow had furrowed and she looked far from being convinced. Her fist was clenched on the rings, as she stated coldly, "This is farewell, then, lord Findaráto."

These were the last words he heard from her before he departed from Aman to go in exile. Findaráto felt slightly relieved she had left first, heading back to her house without so much as a glance for him, for he thought Amárië would overcome her grief faster if she considered he had rejected her. She might even start to lose of the regard she had for him, or even grow to dislike like him, but it would be worth it if it lead her to live a happy life in Valinor.

And he, he would gladly fight Melkor, if he knew Amárië was well out of the Dark Lord's reach.

* * *

 **F.A. 541**

Astarë had shed a few tears and was silently wiping them away with a small handkerchief. Next to her, Findaráto wept too, and he was surprised he had told the entire story to Amárië's little sister. So far, he had kept it for himself, and he thought he would probably not have confessed all of it, had she been older, but he had found it was easier to speak to a child.

"You are missing the end of it, though," said Astarë when she had regained her composure.

"The end?" exclaimed Findaráto. "Her farewell was the end..."

"There is a little bit more to it than you would know," answered Astarë, "and I might tell you about it, as you seem be a fellow I could trust. You have been very honest with me, after all."

"What could have happened?" asked Findaráto, bewildered. "Could she have been bothered, because of our relationship?"

Astarë shook her head.

"After the Doom of Mandos was pronounced, your father and some of his people chose to come back to Valinor and seek the pardon of the Valar, did they not?"

He nodded, gravely.

"When the news reached Amárië's ears, she ran down to Tirion, to this tower where lord Arafinwë still dwells, for she was convinced that if your father had turned back, you too would have done so, and she expected to meet you, in your city."

"But I was not there..." whispered Findaráto, appalled.

"No, indeed... I do not know for sure how it happened, it is not something Amárië is proud of and she won't say much about this particular episode... Yet I understood that, at first, she mistook your father for you, my Lord, and that, upon realizing lord Arafinwë solely had come back, which meant you had disregarded the Doom and had decided to cross the deadly ice, her dismay was so great, she became ill and was bedridden for weeks."

"How could that be...?" he muttered.

"It is only a guess, my Lord, yet it seems it was only then that Amárië took the measure of the danger you were facing."

Findaráto frowned. "My parents have failed to mention this to me..."

"They would have. Amárië is still ashamed they had to witnessed her distress, especially when they were grieving for their own children, who all had left Aman..."

"They would have taken care of her, nonetheless."

"They did, till our parents went to Tirion to tend her," said Astarë, "but if they could heal her body, there was not much they could do to soothe her grief, and... they thought Amárië should stay in the Gardens of Lórien awhile, where she could find the peace and the rest she needed to recover."

"And so she dwelled in the Gardens?"

"She did, and there she slowly went back to her normal self, thanks to the skills of the maids of Estë. Amárië grew to love the Gardens and there she befriended many Maiar, and from them she learned much, she says, although she has yet to tell me all about it."

Findaráto smiled. "Your sister has ever been eager to learn."

"She has been teaching me much, indeed," said Astarë, proudly, "yet I'm afraid I am still too young to grasp everything she has to offer me."

"You need not worry, Astarë, you are clever, well beyond your years," he told her, stroking her soft curls with the tip of his fingers.

"Maybe," she shrugged.

The two of them fell silent, but the gardens were filled with sounds and the night was a lively one. Crickets, especially, seemed happier than ever and a few owls were heard as well, hooting in the tall trees. Astarë seemed absorbed in her thoughts, and she was also feeling sleepy, for she was not used to be up so late, but there was something else she wanted to ask Findaráto.

"Have you got any regrets, my Lord?"

"None," he said at once. "I would rather beg for her pardon than to grieve her death, or to die myself first, knowing I would thus abandon her in a land where she does not belong. And fate proved me right, Astarë, for the wars of Beleriand have been a disaster..."

* * *

Amárië was laying in the fresh grass, in a small clearing where she liked to go whenever she needed some time alone to ponder. There was nothing special about it, but in spring it was covered with marigolds and lilies and there, in autumn, bright-colored leaves from the surrounding trees twirled around in the wind. And at night, it was also a great spot to gaze at the sky, an activity that never ceased to amaze her. Amárië had studied the stars, among many other things, and early on she had known the names of constellations as well as the stories behind it, however she had come to think the stars were not meant to be understood - just to be admired.

Although, this time, she was but slightly concerned with celestial matters. In her right hand, she held two silvery rings, almost identical, for only their size differed - the larger one was loose even on her thumb. Amárië was examining them up close and she realized that, even though she had been carrying these on her all the time, hanging on a fine chain around her neck, she had seldom dared look at them. They were very simple rings, neat and clean, however the silver they had been made of was pure and it shone brightly under the moonlight.

She ought have asked a smith to melt them a long time ago, that would have been the logical thing to do, yet Amárië had never made it to the forge. She could not resent Findaráto for leaving, she could not resent him at all, for her love for him overpowered everything else, and she had decided to keep the two rings close to her, just in case. Anyhow, it had never crossed her mind to marry another, however gallant some offers had been, and of all the keepsakes she owned - Findaráto had showered her with gifts, at some point -, the betrothal rings were the most precious ones.

That was a secret, though. And she could not picture herself telling Finrod Felagund about it.

"Should I meet you again, should I not?" she whispered to herself. "Who are you, king of Nargothrond, and what grieves you so badly?"

Amárië sighed, pocketing the rings, and she was about to rise when she felt a presence nearby - someone was watching her.

She peered around, curious, and found him almost instantly. There, at the edge of the forest, was an Elf, one she did not know, and he had dark hair and was slender, but in his eyes shone a peculiar light and his smile was oddly familiar. He could have been a Teler or maybe a Noldo, however Amárië sensed there was more to him than meet the eyes. And then she suddenly understood.

"Olórin!" she exclaimed, sitting up straight. "It has been a while!"

"Indeed, Amárië, we have not met since you left the gardens", he said, as he stepped forward, "or at least, you have not seen me since then.

* * *

Olórin [otherwise known as Gandalf] was a Maia of Lórien/Irmo, before going to Middle-Earth (well he seemed to have served Nienna and Manwë as well) so I thought it would not be too stretched to have him befriending Amárië during her stay in the Gardens. Since he usually concealed his real identity from the Elves, she would only have realized he was a Maia after having known him for a while, I suppose.


	7. First Confessions

I really need to work on chapter's titles, because I always end up picking up one at the last minute.

And by the way, thank you to everyone who followed/liked the story!

* * *

 **Chapter 7 - First confessions  
**

Olórin had sat next to her, on the ground, and he was smiling happily. He might have a different appearance, one she was not familiar with, for he wore yet another fana, but she did recognize her friend and it gladdened her. Actually, Amárië had never seen his real self, which he seemed reluctant to display, and outside of the gardens of Lórien, Olórin rarely revealed his presence to the Elves - and when he did, he simply looked like one of the Eldar.

"I expected you to have some company, yet I find you alone, Amárië," he said, running his fingers in the fresh grass. "Tell me, what were you pondering over?"

It was always very easy to speak with Olórin and Amárië, producing the betrothal rings that had been laying in her pocket, answered, "These... They remind me of our farewell."

"Hence you feel nostalgic?"

"No."

"What is it, then?" By the way Olórin was staring at her, a gleam flickering in his eyes, she understood he already knew what she was about to say.

"It seems I always think about me first, and then about him," sighed Amárië. "It used to be like that and I am afraid it hasn't changed."

Olórin made no reply, but he took her hand in his and it was like a trigger for her.

"I was young and naive then, and selfish too. I could only think of how miserable I would be without him as if... as if he was the only person worth living for... I relied on him a lot, he really was everything to me and I was convinced I was everything to him as well. Yet I never even tried to comfort him or to understand what torments he was going through... All I could do was wailing and begging, because I did not want to be left alone. I was such a fool, it never crossed my mind he would become the outcast - not me. And I never told him how scared I was for him! Only too late did I realize he was in great danger, it was when I heard this terrible name, Helcaraxë, and that I imagined him walking through the grinding ice... I was horrified..."

And it had made her ill, greatly ill, but this, Olórin had witnessed it himself.

"And today?"

"Today I run away, whereas I could face what I most have been long for."

"Amárië, you are scared."

"I am," she admitted, pressing Olórin's hand.

"Are you scared he might reject you? Or not love you like he used to?"

Amárië shook her head. "The sadness in his eyes... it was endless."

"Many tragedies have occurred in Beleriand", said Olórin, "and Findaráto has come back from the Halls of Mandos, surely he still bears sorrows of his own and it is a heavy burden."

"It is not surprising, indeed," she conceded. "Yet I fear I will be of no use to him. He went through ordeals I barely can conceive, how could I thus help him heal?"

Olórin smiled. "I think no one would be more suited to the task than you, Amárië."

She frowned, sceptical. "You have too much faith in me, Olórin."

"I have not forgotten you told me of those long talks Findaráto and you used to fancy so much," said the Maia, as his smile widened. "Had you not found nicknames for each other? You were the Question, and him, the Answer, am I correct?"

Amárië blushed. It sounded childish, but she nodded, quickly.

"Well then, do what you do best, Amárië. Ask him about his life in Beleriand, about the exile."

"It was one thing to discuss of Valinor and of Arda when the Trees grew, Olórin," she said, anxious. "However the War of the Jewels..."

"Have you not already questioned him?"

"Only a little..."

"And do you not love him still?"

Amárië said nothing, nor did she move, and beside her Olórin was gazing at her intently, his smooth black hair flowing in the warm breeze.

"You might have learned to live without him over the years, yet you also came to the realization that you loved him nonetheless. You, the clever and independant Amárië, you still love Ingoldo, whether he is called Findaráto or Felagund."

"How can you see so clearly through my soul...?" asked Amárië, in a mutter.

"I do have an uncanny knack for that."

"Indeed," she said, chuckling, and Olórin laughed along.

"Amárië, you should go back to your house," he advised her, at length.

"So soon?" She had wished to wait for sunrise, before making her way back to her house, and, eastward, there was no sign of the faintest light. And she was too pleased to be with Olórin to think about leaving.

"Findaráto is waiting for you, in your gardens."

"Is he?"

"Rather than expecting you to come visit him, he came down Ingwë's halls himself."

She sighed yet again, deflated. "I told you he was the one trying to reach to me, while I seem to be only good at complaining these days."

"Amárië, delay it no more, after all you have made your decision the moment you learned he had been brought back to life."

He had rose first and he helped her on feet, gallantly.

"Will I meet you again, Olórin?"

"I never wander far," was his reply and his smile was a magical one, that gave comfort and courage to Amárië.

* * *

Olórin had been right, obviously. As soon as she had reached her family's gardens, she spotted Findaráto who had sat on a bench, not far from the bed of purple and yellow violas her father was so proud of, for he had worked tiredlessly to produce such bright flowers. Amárië moved silently, unbeknownst of him, and she stared long at his silhouette before revealing herself to him. She could only see the back of him, but his blonde hair, shimmering under the moonlight, and the mighty frame of his shoulders were quite enough for her to feel a great turmoil stir in her chest.

For a few seconds, she hesitated, wondering if she should interrupt his peaceful contemplation, then she stepped forward and doing so she ruffled and adjusted her dresses, with great exaggeration - not that she was concerned with her looks, but she wanted to make sure he was well aware of her presence.

"Findaráto, have you—"

She closed her mouth, startled. Findaráto had raised his head, a furtive smile crossed his face, yet their eyes met briefly. It was only their second meeting and it was hard for them to face one another. But Amárië was troubled by something else : she had just discovered that Astarë, fast asleep, laid on the bench, wrapped in Findaráto's cloak, and her head rested on his lap.

"She came down to meet me, after she heard me speak with your father," he explained in a low voice, before Amárië could say anything. "She was quite happy to have a little chat with me at first, however I reckon it was probably too late for a young child like her to stay up."

"She can be quite nosy..." Amárië, unsure, glanced alternately at her sister, at Findaráto and at her house.

"Should I carry her back in her room, perhaps? I did not dare move, for fear I would wake her up..." He gazed down at the little one and added, "She is truly adorable."

Findaráto had finally pinpointed what it was about Astarë that moved him - beside the fact that she was Amárië's sister. Her pale blonde hair, almost white, was the same color as his grandniece's, when she had been a child herself. And so Astarë reminded him of Finduilas, poor Finduilas who had died a tragic death, although he himself did not know how it had happened. He simply had felt she had been there at some point, when his soul had dwelled in the Halls of Mandos.

"Are you unwell, Findaráto?" inquired Amárië upon seeing that his face had whitened.

"No, it might just be that I am a bit weary myself," he confessed, clearing his throat.

"I gather you spent the night in our gardens..."

"I did, although it was my fault, I came unannounced."

"I am glad you did so," said Amárië, sitting next to him. There was plenty of space between Findaráto and the armrest, yet they both averted their eyes from one another and they spoke low, as Astarë slept, breathing steadily.

"Findaráto, you said... you said I could visit you whenever..."

"Yes indeed."

"If I did, would you agree to tell me of your life in Beleriand? You need not say all of it, you could... you could simply go over any matter that pleases you."

"Is there something specific you would like to hear about?" He himself did not know where to start - well, he did know what he did not want to mention so soon, his own death, and those battles that had brought thousands of souls in the Halls of Mandos.

"I assume anything would be worth a tale of its own," answered Amárië, cautious. "But I won't press you and if you would rather discuss of the flowers that grow in Beleriand before everything else, so be it."

Findaráto was silent for a while, relishing these words that had just come out of her mouth. So far he had said very little to very few - mostly he had reported deaths and had made everyone he had talked to weep and grieve - and it was with an unexpected relief he welcomed her offer. And it was with great fondness in his voice, fondness for her, of course, his dear and inquisitive Amárië, and not so much for the flowers, that he said, "There were a lot of pretty flowers, especially the niphredils that bloomed in Doriath."

"I do not doubt it," said Amárië, who could not help but wonder what a niphredil was and for a second she was distracted, "but I won't hide you I hope you will eventually be able to speak freely of your days in exile, not because I want to satisfy my own curiosity, but because... this grief in your eyes, it is unbearable to me."

She touched his arm lightly with the tip of her fingers and said, "I want to know what caused it, I want to help you overcome it, if it is in my power to do so."

Findaráto had closed his eyes and he said, "Many songs about the Wars of the Jewels have been sung already, although their melodies have yet to echo in the evergreen vales of Valinor," and then he warned her, "yet some things I can't reveal, others I won't."

"Of course," said Amárië, slightly uneasy, as she shifted and folded her hands together.

"And I shall speak of these matters with you, and you only," Findaráto went on, gravely. "Don't expect me to give any speech to your friends - neither those of Elenwë's kin, nor this cousin of Laurefindil."

"Alright..." she agreed, in a whisper. "If so should I understand that...?"

"They are dead, they are both dead," he declared, stiff. His previous flutter of excitement was all gone, he had so quickly gone back to his role as a bird of ill omen.

"How...?"

"Elenwë never even set foot in Beleriand," he said, "for she perished, like many others, during the crossing of Helcaraxë. The ice broke and she and her daughter fell into the water."

"Has Itarillë died as well?"

"No, she has been saved, because Elenwë used her last forces to lift her out of the waters and Turukáno could catch her. Yet by the time Itarillë was safe, Elenwë was... Well, she no more was. Turukáno would have probably thrown himself in the water, had not my uncle and Findekáno stopped him, for he was completely out of his mind..."

Elenwë had been a friend of hers, not the closest one perhaps, even though they had grown more intimate after Amárië's betrothal to Findaráto. However the reason why Amárië had spent so much time speculating about Elenwë's life in Beleriand had not so much to do with their friendship than with how she could so easily identify with the only Vanyarin Elf who had gone in exile with the Noldor. She could have been Elenwë - truth was, she had long desired to be her. She could have gone through the exact same adventures and hardships than her and she too, married to a Noldorin prince, she could have discovered a whole new continent. And in her mind the exploration of these wild lands was ever a bucolic walk.

Although she had known some her fantasies were utterly silly, she had still firmly believed that Elenwë had made the right choice by following her husband and that she surely had faced her fate with courage.

But her death on the grinding ice, a few months after the departure of the Noldor, she had not foreseen it. She shuddered, thinking once more _she could have been Elenwë_. Findaráto seemed to have followed her trail of thoughts and he had moved closer to her, but he did not touch her, or at least not directly - his right hand had slid in her hair, in such a nimble gesture that she did not notice it.

"Is that so...? In the ice..." muttered Amárië, her eyes filled with tears.

She was staring at Astarë, who looked so serene, and she did her best no to sob, for it would have disturb her sister's quiet sleep.

"I'm afraid that is all I have to say about those who have gone in exile - death, grief, bitterness," said Findaráto who had caught one of her golden lock between his fingers and was twisting it nervously.

Amárië shed a tear or two, no more, and said, her voice steady, "I will hear you nonetheless."

"Thank you," he whispered in her ear and she shivered when she felt his breath brush against her skin.

* * *

In the end, Findaráto had carried Astarë back in the house when dawn had broke. She was but a light burden in his arms and she had barely been aware of what was going on - he envied the way the child could so easily let herself go, even with someone she was only mildly acquainted with. There was no reason to be wary of anyone or anything in Valinor and it was almost surreal to think it could be otherwise, he realized, gloomily.

Once Astarë had been put to bed by her mother, who had thanked Findaráto for his patience, an amused smile on her lips, he found himself to be alone with Amárië who had looked pensive. Findaráto had not wished to go back to the halls of Ingwë and he had been the one offering her to spend some more time together, since he could see she was hesitant, for fear he was already too tired to embark in lengthy talks. And so Amárië had brought him to an orchard, where apple and pear trees grew, and where none would notice the Noldorin prince who had been brought back from the Halls of Mandos, as it was unlikely they were to meet anyone there - the fruits were mere buds and did not even attract birds yet.

"Tell me of this kingdom of yours, Nargothrond," Amárië bid him soon, "and of this strange name you brought back with you, Felagund. In the halls of King Ingwë, they said the Dwarves were the ones who called you like that and that it is a word of their own language."

"Felagund is indeed Khuzdul, the secret language of the Dwarves, although it is not the true form of the word," explained Findaráto in his usual didactic style. "It has been Sindarized, partly to please our delicate Elven ears, partly to soften its original pronunciation, Felakgundu, which none of our folk seemed to be able to get right."

Amárië was quite fascinated and her lips moved silently as she tried to repeat 'Felakgundu'.

"Have you learned the language of the Dwarves?"

"They do not teach it," he answered. "However since I spent years in their company, I managed to deduce the meaning of some words, of same phrases, but no more."

"And what is the meaning of Felagund?"

"Hewer of caves," said Findaráto and there was a definite note of pride in his voice.

"It is rather poetic."

For a second their gazes met and they smiled at each other, like in old times.

"Would this name be related to your kingdom? Were your halls in a cavern?" She could guess it from the name of it, Nargothrond, though she was not sure she was right. In Amárië's mind, caves were an odd place to dwell in, because in Valinor there was no need for hiding and because, for the Vanyar especially, it was almost unthinkable to chose to live away from to the light of the Sun.

"There was a great river, Narog, who flew west of my kinsman Elwë's realm, and beneath hills were the caverns where I settled with my people in Narog-Ost-Rond, otherwise known as Nargothrond. The dwarves of the Blue Mountains helped us greatly to enlarge the caves as their skills in carving and stone cutting are unmatched and the fortress, though concealed from the Enemy's eyes, was a formidable one, I must admit. And I was not so clumsy myself when it came to handling the mallet, therefore the Dwarves named me Felakgundu."

Before, in what was definitely his past life, it would have taken Findaráto one good hour just to go through the geographic details concerning his kingdom - he had traced many maps while in Beleriand and had written tedious commentaries to go along with it. He remembered most of it, but he felt he had no energy to mention all of it yet, and even less to write it down.

"What did you carve on your walls and on your columns?"

"Landscapes of Aman, for the most part, Tirion, the Taniquetil, Alqualondë, gardens and halls of the Valar were all featured. And the Trees, of course, were depicted in the hall where my throne stood."

Amárië was startled by this word, 'throne', and it lead her to picture Findaráto, sitting on a magnificent stone chair, listening to his people as they petitioned in front of him. Part of her was impressed, and convinced than no King could have been fairer than he, yet she felt also upset she would never witness it herself.

"Was your kingdom a fief of Elwë's or of Fëanáro's?" she asked, tossing aside her silly vexation.

"Fëanáro was no more the High King of the Noldor, he had passed away not long after their ships had landed in Beleriand, during the Battle under the Stars. He and his people had defeated the Orcs, yet in his wrath he had pursued his enemies northward and on the plain before the Thangorodrim, he fell battling Balrogs."

Findaráto paused, allowing Amárië some time to process all these new informations. Here and there, he would use Sindarin words, almost absentmindedly, because some places and some notions he had first come to know in Beleriand and it seemed more natural to him to name them in the language of the Grey Elves. Yet it made his speech even more obscure to Amárië's ears.

"I should very much like to learn Sindarin," she said, at last, as it seemed there was nothing more relevant to say.

"I assumed you would say so." Findaráto was genuinely amused he was still able to foretell Amárië's reactions, to some extent, and it heartened him. She had changed, of course she would have changed, for she had seen many years passed by, apart from him, yet she was still curious and her mind was sharper than ever. For a brief moment, he stared at her hands and he felt the need to grab them in his in order to feel the softness and the warmth of her skin, again.

"And so Maitimo was your liege?" asked Amárië, interrupting his musing.

"Maitimo?" blurted Findárato, turning his attention to a tall and luxurious walnut tree. "No, no, my uncle Nolofinwë was High King."

"It seems quite unlike the sons of Fëanáro to give up their crown..." she said, her brow furrowing. "Would have Maitimo...?"

"No... Maitimo, he..." Findaráto had a strained expression, but he did his best to focus. "It is a strange tale I am about to tell you, and I am afraid it was merely the beginning of our adventures in Beleriand."

The story of how Findekáno had set out to rescue Maitimo, who had been captured by Morgoth and chained up on the Thangorodrim, and of how this heroic deed had contributed to a real reconciliation between the Noldor, was a long one and Findaráto found some of his old verve had come back. It took them to another sunset and both of them were pleasantly surprised time had flown by so fast.

* * *

In a sense, Amárië is Findaráto's #1 fan haha. And he needs it.

 **Maitimo** is the Quenyan form of Maedhros.


	8. Forgiveness

**Erintii:** I figured that Finrod's death was traumatic enough that it would leave scars even a reembodiment could not totally erase, and well, it's not just his death, but the death of pretty everyone in his family as well. After all poor Finrod was killed by Sauron himself :(

 **Borys:** since Valinor is where the Maiar and the Valar live, I suppose they'd interact often with Elves so it'd be natural people would include them in their fics (after all it is a supernatural place haha). In my case I used Olórin because he was a Maia of Lórien so it's likely for an Elf staying in the Gardens of Lórien to have met him there (although since it's said he rarely revealed his presence to the Elves they probably weren't even aware of it) and also because he is known to the reader, so I don't have to introduce him. So he was ideal, because at that point I wanted Amárië to talk with someone already familiar with her background. But that was a one timer haha I don't feel comfortable with Maiar/Valar, they seem too much to handle. (I'm afraid that's a long explanation). On the other hand, I'm sure the day Bëor became fluent enough in Sindarin, Finrod was like "Finally !" and then "One day the Elves awoke in the East..." and started telling him everything about the history of Arda so far with absolutely all the details.

I figured the Halls of Mandos weren't exactly a place where souls get to chitchat about what happened during their lifetime. So at best, Finrod would have been aware some people he has known (especially from his family) were there as well, but not much more. I remember reading something along those lines somewhere in the HoME, that souls were lonely in the Halls, and that they grieved (and that they could be 'close' to those they had loved during their lives).

Lastly, I really had a hard time writing this chapter, although I had a very clear idea of what I wanted to write... It is too long and yet too short :/

* * *

 **Chapter 8 - Forgiveness**

During the ensuing weeks, Amárië and Findaráto met a few times, in quiet places where none would disturb their newfound intimacy. Yet the link between the two of them was still fragile and it was through long discussions about life in Beleriand that they both slowly became more at ease with one another. Mostly Findaráto would talk of the Sindar or the Green Elves and not so much of the kingdoms of the Noldorin princes and it made it sound as if he had been a traveler exploring far away lands - and not a doomed lord in exile.

Some of their old habits came back surprisingly fast and twice at least Amárië had called him 'Hanquento' already. Everytime, as soon as she had pronounced this name, she had been unable to keep track of what they were saying and had instead apologized, although Findaráto had insisted she should chose any name she wanted for him. He dearly wished she would use 'Ingoldo' again, yet he had noticed she even avoided using 'Findaráto' and that was a sure sign their relationship was still a peculiar one.

For, if they lack no topics to talk over and rarely ran out of things to say, Amárië and Findaráto were still far from acting like they used to and at times they sounded like two scholars having an academic meeting. And so they both wondered, in secret, if they had resumed their friendship, at least, or if their love for knowledge was all they had left in common. Those two clever Elves were for once the last to understand what was happening to them, that they had never ceased to love one another, that even centuries of separation, in such a tragic context, could not have put at risk the bond between them. All they needed was a little peace and a little time.

However Findaráto had many issues to deal with and he was not to dwell ever on the Taniquetil, for his people expected him back in Tirion and he himself yearned for his true home. And, on the first day of summer, when Amárië, clad in pale blue dresses that made her eyes popped out, entered the halls of Ingwë, Findaráto said nothing concerning his wanderings in Beleriand - she was probably waiting for him to tell her more about the green lands of Ossiriand, because he had been describing the continent from West to East - but instead he went straight to the point.

"My stay in the halls of Ingwë is nearing its end, Amárië, and in a few days I am bound to go back in Tirion."

"This is where you belong," she said calmly, " and it seems likely you shall feel better there."

"Perhaps," said Findaráto, shrugging. "Although the hospitality of the Vanyar has done me great good." He then threw her a furtive glance and added, "I have asked permission to bring you along to Tirion."

"I beg your pardon?" exclaimed Amárië, puzzled. "Who but I could have given you such permission?"

"I recalled you said your sister does not like being away from you," explained Findaráto who did his best to keep his face straight, "so I made a formal request for you to come down in Tirion awhile and she graciously agreed to it."

Amárië was astonished and it was not because he was offering her to follow him to his city. There was a little something on his face, and the corner of his mouth was slightly twitching - Findaráto was teasing her.

"If you say Astarë has given you her blessing, I would gladly stay in Tirion," she answered and she could not help but giggle a bit. "Then there is something I should confess, for I too have asked permission to follow you."

"Did you?" He laughed and for a few seconds merriness soften his features. Amárië got a glimpse of the handsome prince he had always been and her heart fluttered in her chest.

"Your lady mother was not hard to convince. I daresay she surely meant to convince me, had I not been the one asking first."

And Findaráto laughed even harder, startling a few Elves who stood not far from them.

"Perhaps we should simply consult one another, next time."

"Perhaps," nodded Amárië who was still a bit dazed by Findaráto's cheerful tone.

* * *

Ever since the flight of the Noldor, Amárië had seldom gone to Tirion and it had always been upon lord Arafinwë and lady Eärwen's invitation that she had travelled there, never because she had willed it herself. The beautiful white city was, for the most part, empty nowadays, as a mere fraction of the Noldor had chosen to stay in Aman, and the sandy streets of Tirion, deserted, were a painful reminder of the missings when one stared too long at the lifeless houses whose windows remained unlit at nightfall.

Yet in Tirion, Findaráto could settle in a steady routine his parents and Amárië deemed to be crucial for him to recover his strengths. Mornings he spent with his father and lord Arafinwë usually brought him throughout the city so his son would start going out in the open more often. Afternoons were devoted to crafts, sometimes rest, and at dusk Findaráto loved to walk around the house's gardens with Amárië - he loved how the reddening Sun ignited her dark golden hair. Thus, on the outside, everything seemed to get in order and Amárië would have liked to think Findaráto was doing better, and in a way, he really did. But, if he did speak more freely within his inner circle, he was fearful when it came to social interactions because guilt tormented him still, the guilt of one who has survived in the end. _Why you and why not my son? Why you and not my husband? My brother? My sister? My daughter?_ he heard everyone he met say, though no such inquiries were ever made in his presence.

And it took Amárië a couple of days to notice that Findaráto was also avoiding his aunt. Lady Anairë, lord Nolofinwë's wife, was also dwelling in what they still called Finwë's house and Amárië thought she looked awfully grim, but that was perhaps because she now knew what fate had awaited her husband and her children in Beleriand. Findaráto had told her how lord Nolofinwë, then High King of the Noldor, had challenged Melkor himself in a single combat and, though having fought valiantly and wounded the Dark Lord, he had perished, crushed under Melkor's foot. And she had also heard of Irissë, the White Lady, who had been killed by the Elf she had wedded, before the eyes of her son and of her brother. As for Findekáno and Turukáno, they had passed away, however how and when, Findaráto was not sure, as it happened while he had himself been in the Halls of mandos and Amárië had understood he had no clear memories of that time, only indefinite feelings.

"Amárië, there is a light in your eyes I had not seen in a long time," said lady Anairë, on a morning she, lady Eärwen and Amárië sat in a parlor, where the two sisters-in-law usually did their needlework, or whatever craft they wished to take on, for both of them were especially dexterous and had even build some of their own furniture.

"It would be a lie to say I am not gladdened by Findaráto's return among us," replied Amárië, shyly, and she put aside the book she had been reading. "I had almost lost hope..."

"Me too..." confessed lady Anairë, sighing. "Yet you had good reasons to stay in Aman, my dear."

"My Lady, I had good reasons to leave as well," said Amárië hesitantly, turning to lady Eärwen for support, as she was alarmed by the sudden melancholy lady Anairë displayed.

"A mother should never be sundered from her children, even for the love of a friend, or the love of the Valar... Were they to come back, as Ingoldo did, I would be too ashamed to face them..." She was no longer speaking to Amárië, but was instead muttering to herself, her eyes blank. "How could I even muster the courage to..."

Lady Eärwen rubbed her back gently, "Why would your sons and daughter be different from mine? Ingoldo held no grudges against me or my husband and swore your children felt the same. You would know that by now, Anairë."

Obviously, they had had this conversation before and lady Eärwen had surely shared most of her friend's worries, yet it left a deep impression on Amárië to see the two sisters-in-law finding comfort in each other's presence. And she realized Lady Anairë too was haunted by the past. Even lady Eärwen, who was ever the brightest spirit, grieved for her sons and her daughter and for the innocent killed during the kinslaying. And what of lord Arafinwë whose noble face seemed so serene, so full of wisdom? He yearned for his children, of course, and he mourned the death of his brother, his dear brother whom, every now and then, he thought he should have followed, no matter what.

And, seated with lady Eärwen and lady Anairë, Amárië became keenly aware her own woes weighed not much - she had lost a lover, not an entire family, not the majority of her people. And he was back, miraculously safe and sound, and he even sought her company. These thoughts strengthened Amárië's will and she felt she was more than ever resolved to help Findaráto overcoming his sorrows. Little did she know though that her resolution would soon be put to test.

* * *

Around a fortnight later, three of Findaráto's Telerin cousins came from Alqualondë, bearing the greetings of Olwë and of all his sons, and it was the first direct contact he had with his mother's family since his reembodiment. As he had gone on the Taniquetil to visit his grandmother Indis, Findaráto had been worried it might have been rude to favor his Vanyarin kin over his Telerin, yet he had feared even more to see the Swan-Haven so soon again, for his last memory of this city was purely nightmarish. And if lady Eärwen had assured him over and over he should do as he liked, Findaráto had nonetheless felt he had offended some of his cousins and uncles.

He had kept this anguish to himself, confiding only a little to his father, however Amárië had guessed most of it from what she had heard lady Eärwen and lady Anairë say about this sudden visit of the Telerin cousins. Their friendship was truly remarkable, one could have thinked they were real sisters, and they often had these half-hushed conversations that were barely understandable to others - but Amárië read on their lips what she could not hear. It was no surprise the kinslaying was a delicate matter none would want to tackle yet and Amárië presumed lady Eärwen's family would have expected Findaráto and his siblings to stay in Aman after the bloodshed that had occurred at the harbor, in order to show their support.

And so Findaráto had dreaded the arrival of his cousins, yet he would still welcome them properly and hopefully everything unfolded smoothly. Calairion, the eldest son of Olwë's eldest son, was the first he greeted and their reunion was warm as they hugged each other, exchanging few but meaningful words. Marillë, a daughter of Olwë's youngest son, came second and she had long silvery hair, like lady Eärwen. She too was genuinely moved to see Findaráto and she kissed him on both his cheeks, shedding a few tears. Then there was Hórindo, Marillë's brother, whose embrace was less heartfelt, but he nonetheless expressed his joy upon meeting Findaráto and he did not lie.

Nonetheless that day, dinner turned out to be an odd repetition of the evening at Ingwë's halls, when Findaráto and Amárië had seen each other for the first time since his reembodiment. The Telerin guests displayed the same awkwardness the Vanyarin had, while Findaráto seemed once more sullen and reluctant to talk in public. He knew there would be questions, he knew his answers, as brief as they would be, would cause great grief, and already he felt weary, although he would have liked to be able to entertain everyone, as he used to do so well, before his death. Lord Arafinwë, who presided on one end of the table, lead the discussions skillfully yet one dull moment was enough for Hórindo to increase Findaráto's uneasiness.

"Why you and only you came back from the Halls of Mandos, Ingoldo?" He was staring straight at Findaráto, but his expression was neutral.

"I would not know," uttered Findaráto and he winced.

"It is surprisingly unlike you not to know," whispered the Telerin Elf and his sister, who was beside him, cast him a dark look. "Will your brothers be brought back to life as well?"

It was by then widely known throughout Aman that the house of Finwë had been almost entirely wiped out during the wars in Beleriand.

"I cannot say." Once more Findaráto's answer was evasive and Hórindo seemed greatly annoyed, but he did not press Findaráto furthermore.

"Ought not Ingoldo be the one inquiring? Cannot we tell him of the new ships we built or of the blue pearls that were found on the eastern coast of Tol Eresseä?" spoke in Calairion. His tone was light, but he was serious and he scowled at Hórindo. "And we did bring you some of these pearls for we remember you treasure jewelry, Ingoldo."

"It would be tedious to summarize all that has happened during your absence, Ingoldo," said Marillë, "yet there are a few things worth mentioning and among them are these seven little cousins that were born over the last centuries."

"I heard two of them were your children, Marillë," said Findaráto, smiling faintly.

"Indeed, I gave birth to a son and a daughter, and I daresay my daughter does bear great resemblance to your own mother."

"It is true, one would think I have a twin," added lady Eärwen and it made everyone around the table laugh.

It certainly did lift up Findaráto's spirits to be provided with good news and, as dinner went on, he lost some of his initial apprehensions. Also his enthusiasm was real when he opened the little ebony chest in which a dozen of shiny blue pearls rested on a velvet cushion - if he was not so sure he wanted to wear them himself, he still reckoned they'd look exquisite on a tiara he already intended to offer to Amárië. And, in the end, Findaráto surprised himself thinking this visit from his Telerin kin might turn out for the best.

Until a certain day, a little before midsummer day, after the cousins coming to Tirion.

It was Marillë who had insisted to climb up to the highest terrace of the Mindon Eldaliéva, for, had she said, there they would be closer to the warm summer Sun and enjoy a splendid view on the white city of the Noldor. True, there were no such high tower in Alqualondë, and on that day not a single cloud was to be seen in the clear blue sky, yet Findaráto would have rather avoided his cousins and remained alone in his chamber - Calairion and Marillë were nice enough, but Hórindo had a nasty temper at times. And so he sat down on a bench as soon as they had reached the terrace and was relieved Amárië had chosen to stay close to him, he would have almost begged her to hold his hand.

"I should maybe not ask you this, Ingoldo, for it is a rather private matter, but is your body, as I see it now, completely alike your... your first body, if we should call it like this?"

Calairion did not care so much about the view and he was instead looking at his cousin with genuine concern.

"I was told it is the exact replica of the body that perished in Beleriand and nothing that I have experienced so far would lead me to think otherwis," explained Findaráto, reluctantly.

"Yet... I am only mentioning this because I love you dearly, Ingoldo... yet you seem ill, somehow."

"The Valar gave my soul a new house and they allowed me to walk again in Valinor, however... it does not erase the memories I have of my days in exile."

"You have a lot on your mind," noted Calairion, in a sympathetic tone.

"I do, indeed."

"The Valar would not have forgiven you, had they not judged you worthy of it," broke in Marillë, "and for my part, I never doubted you were as wise and brave in Beleriand as you have ever been in Aman."

"Marillë, you sound so infatuated with our dear Ingoldo, it is ridiculous," suddenly said Hórindo, sounding crossed.

"What should I say then, Hórindo? That the Valar were wrong? Or lenient?"

"No, for I too am sure Ingoldo deserves this blessing," said Hórindo in a very low and very calm voice, "as much as the innocent victims of the Noldor's pride would."

Findaráto's jaw clenched upon hearing these, yet he made no retort. He had not failed to notice that, despite his restraint, Hórindo held a grudge against him and seemed to be waiting for an occasion to pick a fight with him.

"Hórindo, don't you dare—" But Marillë was interrupted by her brother.

"His hands might be clean, for he took no part in the kinslaying, however he did not disown these other cousins of his, who cruelly murdered our people," said Hórindo, ruthless. "Should I understand you love them most? Are the sons of Finwë worth more than the sons of Olwë in your heart?"

"Ingoldo is a Noldorin prince and has always been faithful to the house of Finwë," snapped Amárië who, so far, had remained silent. She stood behind Findaráto's seat and she had put her hands on his shoulders, as if to protect him.

"Does this devotion give him the right to support kinslayers?"

"You seem forget Ingoldo and his uncle were also victims of Fëanáro's folly, for the swan-ships were burned and their hosts crossed the Helcaraxë where many of their dear ones passed away."

"Yet he freely chose to go forth! Has not lord Arafinwë turned back and sought the Valar's pardon?"

"Perhaps their venture was a dangerous—"

"Dangerous?" he sneered. "Oh, you would know, Amárië of the Vanyar, as yourself you chose not to go in exile."

She turned white, gaping, yet not a sound would come out of her mouth. Could she tell him she had stayed in Valinor against her will - right in front of Findaráto?

"Hórindo, that is enough!" snapped Calairion and Marillë had grabbed her brother's arm, dragging him toward the stairs. "Leave him alone!"

"Isn't what I said true, though?" went on Hórindo, his cheeks flushed with anger. "And hasn't he gone see the Vanyar first and had we not to travel here to meet him, would he have cared to visit us in Alqualondë?"

"You are being obnoxious, Hórindo," said Marillë, furious. "You are a guest here, did you forget it?"

As he retreated, Calairion uttered a few apologies, but Findaráto was not even aware of it. And as of Amárië, very shaken, she watched the cousins exit the terrace and only after they were gone - at least Hórindo willingly left - did she realize her nails were painfully digging in Findaráto's skin, as her hands were still clenched on his shoulders.

"I have offended your cousin... I am so sorry, I spoke without thinking..."

"What you did, Amárië... what you did..."

Findaráto too was upset and his face had gone blank awhile. He was still seated, and made no move to get up, instead he grabbed Amárië's hands, releasing himself from her grip and leading her to stand in front of him. She thought he was angry with her, because of the harsh words she had used with his kinsman, and she was about to apologize when he talked first.

"Forgive me, Amárië," said Findaráto as he pulled her towards him, enfolding his arms around her. He then buried his head against her belly and repeated, "Forgive me."

"What is to be forgiven, Ingoldo?" she asked, taken aback.

"I abandoned you, I chased away my guilt, telling myself you would be happier in Valinor, yet I let you down nonetheless" And he began to weep, unrestrainedly, heavy tears rolling down his face, sobs shaking his shoulders and heartwrenching wails came out of his throat.

"You were forgiven long ago!" Amárië exclaimed, hugging him tightly. One of her hand had wound in his hair, rubbing the nape of his neck, and the other was on his cheek, stroking it gently. "You were forgiven the second I said farewell!"

Yet Findaráto cried harder and during long minutes he was unable to speak. He clang desperatly to Amárië, as if she could disappear any minute, as if his reembodiment had been nothing but a dream and that he would soon wake up in the Halls of Mandos.

* * *

I wish I could have come up with names with "Olwë/Ol-" for the Telerin cousins (like those "Finwë/Fin-" names in Finwë's house) but all the names I tried sounded ridiculous... Also their names should be in Telerin forms (actually like Findaráto is) but that's way beyong my league.


	9. Of Men

I wrote 90% of this chapter in two days, then it took me forever to get the remaining 10% done...!

 **Borys** : no problem!

 **Mystifying Roses** : Thank you very much :) I'll do my best to update more often.

* * *

 **Chapter 9 - Of Men**

Findaráto cried for a long time and he spoke too, through his tears, although Amárië could not make out all of his words. He seemed not to address her, nor anyone in particular, but rather he was lost in his memories, tormented by shadows only he knew of.  
Some names Amárië was familiar with and among these Aikanáro was the one she heard most, in what she

guessed was its Sindarin form 'Aegnor' - whatever had happened to his younger brother, Findaráto obviously felt he had had some part in it. Other names were totally new and Amárië wondered how much Findaráto had been keeping all for himself, for he had never mentioned any 'Bëor', 'Andreth' or 'Beren' before and now that he did, it was as if he had been especially close to all of them.

"I failed you, I failed you..." Findaráto would mutter from time to time. "Forgive me..."

Amárië had quickly understood it would be useless to try to talk him out of his grief, instead she had cradled him in her arms and had patiently wiped his tears away as she would have done with a scared child. At some point, his sobs quietened, his breath became steadier and, since his eyes were closed, Amárië thought he had fallen asleep, exhausted, collapsed against her.

They had not moved, he seated on the bench, she standing in front of him, both wrapped in a tight embrace, and Amárië felt overwhelmed with fondness for him. Cautiously, she trailed his hairline, ran her fingers through his hair and she bent down her head, slowly and carefully, to kiss his forehead.

"Amárië..."

"You are awake?"

"Barely..." he mutter, his voice muffled. "Amárië, I won't leave you ever again."

"I know, Ingoldo. I know."

* * *

After that, Findaráto appeared more serene, more appeased. In his father's company he feared no longer going around the streets of Tirion and he finally starting to open himself to others, although he was still shy when he was being hailed by the Noldor. With his parents, he now allowed himself to be merry, and they heard his laughter again - that was a relief and a delight. And with Amárië he was now openly affectionate. They talked less, not that they had ran out of topics, but they now simply enjoyed being together and they were often sighted walking hand in hand, along the high walls of Tirion.

Findaráto had also decided to confront Hórindo who had been carefully avoiding him ever since their little quarrel, even though Calairion and Marillë had wasted much energy trying to convince him to apologize. And indeed it was not before Hórindo had been cornered by Findaráto in a corridor that he agreed to have a private talk between cousins - that had not started well, for the Telerin Elf had first chosen to mock Amárië and how she had been so eager to jump to Findaráto's defense. Hórindo had not meant to be insulting, yet he was too proud to say sorry and too gruff to admit he had been wrong.

"Your Vanyarin lover is a feisty little lady" had been Hórindo's exact words and it had angered Findaráto to hear them, so much that when he had warned his cousin not to speak ill of Amárië ever again, his voice had had those same harsh intonations it had had during battles. The good thing, though, was that Hórindo had been so startled by his cousin's roughness he had apologized right away and he had done so genuinely.

"I wish you no ill, Ingoldo, and more than anything did I hope you and your siblings were faring well in Beleriand... I loved to imagine you dwelled with our kinsmen there, that was perhaps the most pleasant of my thoughts somehow," confessed Hórindo, at length. "It was truly terrifying to imagine you lived nearby the shadows of Melkor... yet I was hurt you chose the exile, after the kinslaying..."

"I hear you, Hórindo," had said Findaráto. "It was not heartily that I left Aman, you have to believe me, and never did I intend to chose one party over the other... You would know I am a Noldo. Fully."

Hórindo had nodded, but he had sighed too. "You are my cousin as much as you are theirs."

"Indeed." Findaráto had stepped forward and, after a slight hesitation, he had embraced Hórindo.

"Those who were slain in our Harbor, will they be back?"

"They shall. I do not doubt it." And Findaróto's answer was surprisingly a firm one.

* * *

Summer passed by and autumn was pleasantly warm that year. As the harvest festival neared, lord Arafinwë seemed to have finally convinced Findaráto to go celebrate in Valimar, something he had refused to do during Mid-Summer Day. Yet this time, Findaráto had not frowned at the idea of having new clothes made for the occasion and he seemed ready to leave the plain attires he had been wearing since his reembodiement - as a punishment, almost. Jewels, though, he would not even look at and when one day Amárië asked him about this reluctance of his, he said nothing at first.

They were both sitting in the grass, in the plain surrounding Tirion and the hill it was settled on, and looking westward, they could see the golden and silvery glimmers of Valimar. Amárië had been plucking flowers around and if other maidens would have probably wanted to braid wreaths with it, she, on the other hand, was sorting her loot meticulously with her herbarium in mind. The silence between them did not trouble her anymore, on the contrary, it felt more natural not to speak all the time.

"I died because of an oath," he said suddenly, without preamble.

"An oath...?" repeated Amárië.

"An oath of eternal friendship and aid that I swore to a Man who saved my life during battle... I vowed to come to his help, or the help of any of his kin, might they be in need, and I gave him my ring, the one I had inherited from my father, as a token of this promise."

"The ring with the two serpents and the flower wreath?"

"Indeed," nodded Findaráto, looking at his fingers. He had worn no rings, no necklaces or any other jewel since he had been reembodied, as if no adornments suited his taste anymore.

"It was a very solemn gesture, then," said Amárië who knew Findaráto took great pride in all of his possessions, thus he rarely gave them away.

"I had always been close to the Men who were part of the people of Bëor, those who had formed the first house of the Edain, as we called them - the Atani -, for it was I, of all the Eldar, who met them first in Ossiriand and they later settled in a fiefdom of mine, in Ladros."

He had mentioned the Men on few occasions, yet never had he dwelled on the matter long and Amárië had wondered if such a bright mind as his could have overlooked the opportunity to learn more about the second Children of Ilúvatar.

"Bëor was a Man... so were all the others?" she guessed, outloud.

"The others?"

"I heard you say their names, Bëor, Andreth and Beren, if I am not mistaken," said Amárië whose pronunciation of Sindarin language had slightly improved, even though 'th' sound was still an issue. "There were some more, yet I cannot recall them."

"These three were perhaps my dearest friends among their folk," muttered Findaráto and he seemed not gazing at the meadows ahead, but somewhere farther, in the past.

"Had they learned to speak Sindarin? Their names do sound... familiar, unlike the Dwarves."

"They did, yet they also had their own language and Bëor was a mannish name that meant 'Vassal', oddly enough it was given to him by the Elves of my kingdom where he dwelled during most of his life."

"He... died, did he not?"

"Yes, he died, at the age of 93," replied Findaráto, "willingly, though."

"Willingly?"

"It is a strange to thing to us, the First Children, to witness the peaceful death of a Man. One would have thought Bëor merely... had gone to sleep."

"Do not their souls dwell in the Halls of Mandos as well?"

"For a time yes. Yet their fate is different from ours."

"What...?" Amárië could not phrase her question, for there was much she did not grasp - even death was an abstract matter to her.

Findaráto frowned, allowing himself some time to collect his thoughts. "I long studied the question, however there is only one thing I am sure of," he said, at length. "They do not belong to Arda like we do... They believe us immortal when we are in fact bond to this world and meant to last as long it will. Thus Arda's end would be ours, but as for them, their souls leave Arda after their death - to where, to what purpose, I cannot tell."

"Have they not told you about it? Or is their fate beyond the circles of the world a secret their people do not share?"

"It seems they are unaware of it and most of them fear death, for they think it is a punishment," Findaráto replied. "These are questions I do not have answers to, though it is not for the lack of trying... I did have long discussions with Andreth on the matter and it seems we had to argue tediously to reach agreements on certain beliefs I never doubted to be true, for such was the gap between our two folks and also the two of us, simply. After all I dwelled in Valinor during the days of Trees, while her people have only reached Beleriand two centuries ago."

"Andreth would have been wise not to let you impose your views on her," said Amárië and she meant not to offend him - she remembered he himself had always encouraged her to counter his opinions.

"She did have a firm character..." said Findaráto and he gently pulled her towards him, his lips brushing her forehead. "And she did remind me of you quite often, especially when she was younger and less... less bitter."

"Is bitterness related to old age?" asked Amárië. She had but a mere notion of what 'old age' encompassed when it was being applied to Men and it was rather strange for an Elf of Valinor like her to imagine elderly people. She could not even picture Men, for she had heard no accurate descriptions of them yet, simply she saw them as Elves, smaller perhaps than the Eldar, but still narrowly akin to the Avari - or the idea of them.

"Andreth was not bitter about aging, even though she surely was not pleased to see herself wither, slowly. Until the end, she was an elegant lady and a few grey hair would not have erased all her charms."

"Was she pretty then?"

"Yes, and as wise and as noble as one can be, like the people of her house."

"She was one of your dear friends, indeed," said Amárië leaning against him.

"She was... She was even a bit more than that, to tell you the truth, for Andreth loved my brother, Aegnor, and he loved her too."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, my dear Amárië, and their love was more of a curse than a blessing..." whispered Findaráto wrapping his arms around her with delight - an untimely feeling, as he was about to tell her some grieving tales.

"Was it forbidden then, for an Elda to love one of the Atani?"

"Forbidden? No, it has not been forbidden, yet it is rather ill-advised to pursue such union," he explained. "Both our people were created as Children of Ilúvatar and it seems unavoidable we were to mingle, at least during the early days of the world... Love, of course, would have bloomed between some of us and some of them, since we are kindred, in a way, and Aegnor and Andreth they... they were beautiful together."

"Did they wed?" asked Amárië, in a low voice. She was happy he hugged her, however her heart was heavy, because she could foretell Aegnor and Andreth's story would be a sad one - had not Findaráto already told her Aegnor would ever refuse to leave the Halls of Mandos?

"No, they did not. They had one Spring and one Summer together and no more time was given to them."

"How could that be...?" she breathed and Findaráto took one of her hands in his, entwining his fingers with hers.

"We were at war, Amárië," he said, "and seldom do we celebrate weddings at times like these. And had it been peace, Andreth was a mortal, she would have aged and withered and Aegnor would have endured all the ages of Arda in widowhood..."

"Could have they not enjoy a few years together at least? Wedded or not, Aegnor would have mourned for her, would have he not?"

"A few year they would have had, indeed... and then Andreth might have wished to disappear of Aegnor's life, once she would have deemed herself too old for him. Yet he would never have let her go, he would have hold her hand till the very end, he would have pitied her sorrows... Thus he chose to spare them all the anguish their union would causd them and so he left her while their love was still fresh and young, for these memories he wanted to cherish forever."

"What of Andreth? Has she not tried to see him again?"

"No, and though she knew he had loved her, she believed he had rejected her because she was thought too lowly for an Elven lord."

"She could not possibly have understood your brother's real motives, however noble they were," said Amárië, as she straightened up and raised her head to look at him straight in the eyes. "She would not have understood he meant to spare them any more sufferings, would she not?"

"Why so?" exclaimed Findaráto, surprised.

"If you say Men live around a little less than a century at best, it is no surprise Andreth would have been ready to put everything aside for a few years spent with your brother, for even a short span of time together would have seemed worth the struggles and the pain. And, in a way, she would have been right to do so."

"Do you really think so, Amárië?" He was gazing at her intently.

"She could not rely on a long lifetime and it seems it would have been of no comfort for her to dwell in memories of her youth. She might have even believed all of this would fade when she would die, thus she would have wanted to grab as much as she could."

"I used to believe Aegnor had been wise to walk away from her," confessed Findaráto. "I even encouraged him to do so... for their own good..."

"Perhaps for an Elda it was the best decision. Yet his lover was not an Elf."

"My beliefs on the matter are not as firm as they used to... Andreth and Aegnor both passed away before I did and Aegnor will not leave the Halls of Mandos, he will refuse to be reincarnated in a world where Andreth no more is."

"When shall they meet again?"

"At the end, I suppose."

"Have all unions between Elves and Men been so tragic?"

Upon hearing her question, Findaráto sighed and said "I only know of one another occurrence and I gave my life for it to succeed." He then shifted, uneasy, and he laid down, in the grass, his head resting on Amárië's lap, his hand holding hers tightly. "I told you I swore an oath to a Man who saved my life during a battle, this Man was Barahir of the house of Bëor, that same house to which Andreth belonged, and he had a son, Beren."

He paused to look up at Amárië who nodded - she would probably ask for a more detailed genealogy later, but for now she had understood Bëor, Andreth and Beren were all related.

"This terrible battle had almost wiped out entirely the house Bëor and those who were still alive fled their lands to the south and to the west. It was after he had gone through countless wanderings and misfortunes - some even Elves would have hardly survived - that Beren entered the hidden kingdom of Doriath. There he saw Lúthien, the daughter of king Thingol and of the Maia Melian, dancing in the woods, and he fell in love with her..."

"How could he cross through the girdle and into Doriath?" Findaráto's accounts of his stays in Doriath had been very thorough and often he had talked of the girdle and of how, among the Noldor, only he and his siblings only had geen granted permission to visit Thingol's hidden kingdom. Amárië would have thought Men, like the Noldor, would not have been welcomed anywhere near Menegroth.

"That I do not know, as it was complete unheard of, though I am tempted to believe it was simply... doomed to be ,and it probably is a good guess. For the love Beren bore Lúthien lead him to set out on a quest no one had never dared t a to take on before and that no one ever will hereafter. Thingol would have never allowed his daughter to wed a mortal and so he bade Beren to bring him one of the Silmarils in order to prove himself worthy of his daughter - but mostly in the hope of never seeing Beren ever again."

"A Silmaril? Should I then presume that...?"

"Beren wore the ring I had given his father and so he came to my kingdom, reminding me of the oath that bound me to his family and seeking my help," said Findaráto, gravely.

"You went on a quest to retrieve a Silmaril from Melkor's crown?" exclaimed Amárië, gaping.

"I did, yes. Although I died before the quest was fulfilled."

"Was it ever fulfilled?"

"I dearly wish it was, yet I could not find out what happened to Beren after my death..."

"Tell me, how did it happen?" whispered Amárië, stroking his cheek. She felt a bit anxious, but Findaráto seemed ready.

"I could not refuse Beren my help. Even though I foresaw the shadowy path that lied ahead of us, I could not and would not refuse him my help... and it was then in my power to offer him a lot. However at that time, Tyelkormo and Curufinwë dwelled with me in Nargothrond, as their lands had been devastated in the east."

"They would not have liked that someone, let alone a Man, would claim one of their Silmarils..." Amárië spoke in, shyly.

"Exactly. If they would have never dared threaten me, or anyone under my protection, they... with their speeches, they persuaded my people not to follow me and so only ten of my closest companions joined Beren and me in this quest."

"You headed northward, then?"

"We did and on our way we were able to disguise ourselves as Orcs, so we could travel along the banks of the Sirion, between the Ered Wethrin and Taur-nu-fuin, the highlands we called Dorthonion before the Battle of the Sudden Flame, those my brothers held... Despite our artifices, we were eventually caught by the enemies, though, as we passed near an island I had inhabited well before darkness took it over."

"That was where Minas Tirith was built, was it not?"

"Ironically enough, it was," said Findaráto and a feeble smile twisted his lips - the irony or perhaps Amárië's newly acquired knowledge of the geography of Beleriand amused him. "Yet it was no more held by the Elves, but by a servant of Morgoth that had captured it, and because he breeded great wolves there, it had been named Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves. I... I cannot describe how dreadful the island was, it seems so absurd to pronounce some words in Valinor... All I can say is that we were quickly stripped off our disguises, although our identities and purposes remained hidden from Sauron. And then... we were imprisoned."

His hand squeezed Amárië's and he went on, "My companions were killed one by one, devoured by wolves whose red eyes we saw shine in the blackness of our pit, but none of these dear friends uttered a word about the quest... I was meant to die last, for Sauron had guessed I was the most powerful member of our party. How could he even imagine I was there to assist a Man? I wonder... but when a werewolf came for Beren, when it was his turn, I had to... I had to protect him, to fulfill my oath. I unchained myself, threw myself on the wolf, wrestled with it... and slew it my bare hands, with my teeth..."

Findaráto still laid on his back, staring at his hands closely, as he was amazed they were white and smooth whereas in the very last memories he had of his life in Beleriand they had been covered with thick black blood, his and the werewolf's.

"I won this fight, at great cost, for I had been mortally wounded myself..."

Even though it had been in another body that he had suffered, he recalled keenly the pain, for his torso and his arms had been slashed open by the wolf's bites. Then, Findaráto had been prepared to suffer, he had even believed the physical pain would be the lightest sorrow, that the flesh could always heal and that instead he should fear for his soul and for his heart to be hurt. Yet what a relief it had been to feel his soul slip out his aching body, what a relief it had been to leave everything behind...

"There I died, in the dark."

A few tears were shimmering at the corner of his eyes and, bending down as she caressed his forehead and his hair, Amárië kissed his lips lightly.

"Cry no more, my beloved Ingoldo."

She kissed him again and this time Findaráto cupped her face, eagerly welcoming the sweet touch of her mouth on his. It was such a pleasure to have her so close to him, to feel her breath brush against his skin that it chased away some of the gloominess the tale of his death had stirred.

"Would you stay with me all night, Amárië?" he asked her.

"Of course," she told him, laying down to his side. She huddled herself against him, putting little kisses on his forehead, cheeks and lips, till he closed his eyes.

Findaráto slept well. The starry sky was by far his favorite ceiling, the fresh grass was the softest mattress and Amárië was watching over him. She had her arms around him and his head rested against her chest - a pillow he loved much, he had briefly thought before falling into a deep slumber.

* * *

Should I mention again how much I love Andreth and Aegnor? But the mere thought of writing about them frightens me haha.

Of course, most of what Finrod says comes from the Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth and the Silmarillion. I reread the former and it's a difficult text, at least for me, I'm not familiar with the 'thou' and 'ye'. It hurts my brain a bit. _  
_


	10. Changes

**Fadesintothewest** : Hello again! What can I say haha that whole 1st Age is a tragedy.

I realized there were a lot of typos in Chapter 9, well even more than usual. Sorry about that.

And I thought there was not enough Finarfin in this fic haha (to be honest, he feels intimidating)

* * *

 **Chapter 10 - Changes  
**

 **1495 Y.T. - Araman**

From the start, he had known it would be a perilous journey yet, like his father, he had deemed his duty was to follow his kin and his people and there barely was any regret he could afford to linger on. On their way, things had changed though. Dramatically changed : there had been the blood in the harbor, the stolen ships and the cold, the terrible cold of the north. And it had been but the beginning of the nightmare, for the Curse had been pronounced against them and Fëanáro had set afire their only mean of transportation to Beleriand.

They were lost on the ice, miserable and facing the unknown. Findaráto could not have blamed his father for turning back to Tirion, for wanting to seek the Valar's pardon - it was not desertion, it simply was the right thing do, what they all ought to do. But he would not follow lord Arafinwë, not this time. He had chosen exile, although his heart belonged to Valinor.

This last parting was the worst, by far. Lord Arafinwë had said farewell to the three youngest of his children and they stood in line, weeping silently. At length he had turned to his eldest son, whose face was pale, almost as white as the snow covering the grounds around them.

"Father..." had uttered Findaráto and truth be told, he felt rather pitiful in that moment whereas he should have been proud and resolved.

"Ingoldo, my beloved son, what burden do I put on your shoulders... although you shall handle it well, I know," said lord Arafinwë, putting a kiss on his son's brow.

"Hereafter you shall be the head of our house, Ingoldo."

"No, Father, you—"

"You will, in Beleriand. And I foresee you shall bring great honor to my name."

"Should I not go back with you?" Findaráto whispered to his father's ear and to lord Arafinwë only would he dare confess this ultimate doubt of his.

"You chose your way already, Ingoldo, so did your brothers and your sister."

"I am sorry, Father."

"No, I am sorry I shall not be there anymore, dearest son," said lord Arafinwë and he took Findaráto's hands in his, gazing at him intently. "Take my ring, Ingoldo, wear it proudly and do think a little about your father whenever you look at it."

It was in his palm, shimmering faintly. The two serpents intertwined, their eyes made of green jewels, the crown of golden flowers, these were all too familiar to Findaráto, yet it had never crossed his mind it would become his one day. His fingers were slightly trembling when he put it on and it felt like cold and hard against his skin.

"Farewell, Father."

"Farewell, Ingoldo."

* * *

 **541 F.A. Tirion**

"A lot more has happened than I could foretell when I gave you my ring, yet I am glad that it was not lost and has become a heirloom of one of the Atani's greatest house," said lord Arafinwë once Findaráto had told him of Beren and Lúthien, of the Quest for the Silmaril and of his own death.

Lord Arafinwë had wept, of course, how could the woes of his son leave him unmoved? Yet he was not sad, no he really was not. Instead he felt amazed, extraordinarily amazed, and he did not quite understand why.

"A heirloom? I'm afraid I cannot be so optimistic, Father. It could, if Beren and Lúthien have wedded and if they did, then one of the Silmaril was taken off the Dark Lord's crown..." and as he said those words Findaráto was shaking his head, in disbelief. "I have always presumed their love was meant to fulfill some higher purpose... yet a Silmaril..."

He thought a Silmaril would bring only misfortune to Beren and Lúthien, for the sons of Fëanáro would pursue them relentlessly, pressed by their terrible Oath to recover their father's precious creations.

"A child of them would be worth more than that Silmaril they were asked to retrieve from Melkor," said lord Arafinwë, almost absentmindedly.

"What is it that dwells on your mind, Father?" inquired Findaráto, frowning.

"A vague feeling, nothing more..."

"They probably died a cruel death, crueler than mine I daresay."

Lord Arafinwë's piercing gaze set on his son and soon he had forgotten all about Beren, Lúthien and the Silmaril. "It hurts to say I do not know what it has been like," he said. "I do not know, I can only imagine... Ever since I heard those terrible words, in the North, I have tried to imagine what you and your siblings could have gone through... yet I still do not know."

"Artanis has fared well," Findaráto replied. He loved to say that, it had almost become a prayer - at least one of them would have survived the wars.

"Indeed, our dear Artanis would have always known what to do," agreed lord Arafinwë, then he added, cautiously, "Ingoldo, your mother... She may be terrified of these trials you had to face in Beleriand, however tell her about it. Tell her everything, as you have done with me."

"Father, she is still grieving for Angaráto and Aikanáro, thus shall I not wait before revealing how a werewolf ripped open my chest and drained all blood out of me?" Dark humour was not something Findaráto was fond of, but he could not figure how to tell lightly the story of his death, especially to his own mother, and there was not much he would not have done to spare lady Eärwen anymore tales of sufferings.

"It will be a relief for her to hear it from you," insisted lord Arafinwë. "She will want to understand what happened."

"Alright... She will know everything there is to know," said Findaráto. "After the festival."

"Have you decided to come, then?"

"I did, yes. I shall like to take part in some rejoicings."

"Shall you?" said lord Arafinwë, smiling softly.

"It seems I am not as afraid of having fun as I used to be, barely a few weeks ago."

"You deserve to be happy, Ingoldo. You truly do." Lord Arafinwë grabbed his son's arm, leading him along the white walls of Tirion.

Father and son were seen walking beneath the trees, all day long, for their morning stroll lasted longer than usual and their laughters echoed everywhere in the streets of the city.

* * *

 **Valimar**

Findaráto was following Amárië closely and he was glad she was there to lead him through the crowd, for he was too busy marveling at what surrounded him to pay any attention to where his feet strode and, in fact, he felt a bit dizzy. He had often dreamed of Valimar while he had been in Beleriand and the longing had ever been keener on holidays - for a Noldo born under the light of the Trees, what could be more beautiful than the City of the Bells, with its golden roofs and silver floors? And if his halls in Nargothrond had been handsomely crafted and if among his people there had been many gifted menestrels, he had known that, east of the Great Sea, he would never find the likes of the merry and careless atmosphere of festival days in Valimar.

He felt he had travelled through time and that he was back in the glorious days that preceded the darkening of Valinor, although some things were forever lost - the light of Laurelin and Telperion, the Silmarils, part of his innocence. His siblings too were no more by his side and even thinking about Angaráto's annoying way of teasing him made him nostalgic. However if his Noldorin cousins were also not there, his Telerin cousins had all come, along with his uncles, their wives and even his grandparents, king Olwë and his Queen. It was almost an overwhelming party, or at least it would have been, had not Findaráto finally started to sort things out in his heart and in his mind.

He was happy to be part of a clan again and he had understood all of them meant well, even though some of their questions might have been too persistent at times - and Hórindo could be obnoxious, still. Yet Findaráto had found there were many things he could tell them easily, for all that concerned the Sindar enthralled them and they soon took great pride in the power and the beauties of Doriath, as if it had been their own. They also loved the fact that Elwë Singollo had wedded Melian the Maia, for none would have believed Elwë had been lost forever, and Findaráto had to repeat their tale quite often, as he had heard it himself from the bards in Menegroth.

It could be straining, but Findaráto was slowly getting back to his former self, who knew not when to stop once stories were told. On that day though he only saw the bright sides of having his family close and once he had reached the Great Place, he danced and he sang, for the first time since his reembodiement. Findaráto was as agile and as graceful as before and he felt he had regained control over his body, at last - he feared no more to unfurl his strength, to display his skills and moreover he did not feel guilty for laughing out loud so often.

It was not after several hours of celebrations that he had the need for a break, a small pause away from the main crowd, and so he sought Amárië, who had been playing games with some her Vanyarin kin, for he wished to have her close to him. They chose to head towards one of the smaller fountains of the city, one located in a courtyard where ivy grew on high stone walls. There few Elves wandered, but the melodies sung by choirs of Eldar and Maiar could echoed on the silvery pavement and garlands had been suspended in the trees, where mynas whistled gaily.

"The city and the festival are ever the same, yet it feels different to me..." said Findaráto, dazzled.

He was dressed in Telerin fashion in tones of blue and grey and although his outfit was a simple one, these colors suited him well and his eyes shone bright.

"You are coming back from a long journey, it should not be a surprise your views on many things have changed," said Amárië who was at ease among the singing and dancing Eldar - she was smiling, giggling and humming ever since they had entered the city and she had even agreed to twirl with Hórindo.

"I suppose not... It is far from being unpleasant though," he said as his fingers trailed her long braids. "I get to discover many delights once more, which is quite unexpected considering I never imagined I would leave the halls of Mandos..." For once he was not afraid to mention the Halls, for it seemed so far away, under the warm sunshine.

"You changed, Ingoldo," told him Amárië, peering at him shyly. "You changed, yet when I look at you, I still see the Findaráto I met in Alqualondë."

"The one whose endless speeches scared everyone away? Ah, I really did hope everything that has happened since then would have erased that unfortunate memory of me off your mind," he chuckled and he sat beside the fountain. "You changed too, Amárië. You did, in a marvelous way," he then added, more seriously, kissing the back of her hand.

"You are kind to think so, but how could I? What lands did I explore that you did not?" She was not trying to be modest, for she truly did believe her years in Valinor could not have brought her as much as years in exile would have had, somehow.

"Have you not stayed in the Gardens of Lórien?" Findaráto asked softly, brushing away a curl behind her ear. The Gardens were not exactly unknown lands to him, for he had visited them during the years of the Trees, but he presumed that Amárië's long stay there would have taught her much and he had meant to question her about it for a while.

"I did," admitted Amárië in a mutter, and all her previous merriness seemed to have vanished.

"You need not be ashamed, Amárië," Findaráto assured her, trying to meet her gaze.

"I am not," she replied quickly and then she pretended to be very absorbed by the statues adorning the fountain.

Their hands were still linked and Findaráto was careful not to let her go too far from him. "I am sorry, Amárië," he said in a low voice.

"Why would you be?"

"Well... it was because of me, was it not?" Her face darkened and Findaráto regretted having brought up so suddenly such a delicate topic, although it had been bothering him for a moment already - he had expected her to tell him well before he would get the opportunity to ask her about it.

"I was weak... and vain," said Amárië grudgingly. "Your parents had lost four children, your aunt, her whole family... Yet I was the one who could no more walk, no more talk..."

"You were sad... sad and disappointed", said Findaráto, as he rose and cupped her face with one hand. "And I daresay you felt a little betrayed, did you not?"

It was true, very true indeed. She had felt betrayed, _highly_ betrayed, but she would not voice it.

"Ingoldo, it is a feast day, should we not sing and dance some more?" Amárië suggested instead, her eyes half-closed - she relished the feel of his fingers against her skin.

"Alright..." agreed Findaráto. "But you will tell me, won't you?"

"I will," she promised, and she asked, "Astarë spilled it, did she not?" Amárië was again smiling, as she remembered how she had found her sister asleep on the bench, her head resting on Findaráto's lap. They had had plenty of time discuss before she had gotten back to the gardens of her house and she had since then suspected Astarë's tongue had been quite loose during that night.

"She did. Would you have kept it a secret otherwise?"

"I did not mean to conceal it from you if that is what you are wondering about. Rather, I thought it was a useless piece of information for the time being," Amárië explained and her pale blue eyes were full of concerns for him.

"Since when would I overlook anything that concerns you, dear Amárië?" Findaráto whispered. He bent down to kiss her lips - it was but a mere brush, a sweet caress, for he was aware his presence drew many curious looks from the bystanders. "And if I may say, I will never believe that Amárië of the Vanyar could have stayed in the Gardens of Lórien without having obtained all the knowledge she could from the Maiar dwelling there."

"I might have asked a few questions here and there..." Amárië confessed, unable not to grin.

"Oh, I assume you did so, and quite diligently," Findaráto laughed. "And you experienced many things, happy and sad, and you changed. You became this beautiful and noble lady I have the honor of walking with today, in the City of Bells..." He was looking at her fondly, yet his smile was a melancholic one. "I used to believe I would be the one helping you grow, guiding you through life and lore... How pretentious of me!"

"But, Ingoldo..."

"My only regret is that I was not there to witness all these moments that have forged you, Amárië."

"Ingoldo, you were my model all along," said Amárië, leaning her head on his chest.

Her confession had been genuine and spontaneous and it left Findaráto speechless awhile.

"Amárië, it is a feast day, should we not sing and dance some more?" His voice was hoarse all of a sudden and unlike what he had just suggested he stood motionless, his arms around her.

"We should indeed," she said and, after having enjoyed being held by him a little while, she lead him back through narrow passegeways and crowded avenues, till they reached again the Great Place.

Both were silent, wrapped up in their own thoughts, and Findaráto had lost himself the golden glints of Amárië's hair, wondering why he had not yet told this delightful creature how much he loved her. Ever since he had been brought back to life, it had all been about him - his wounds, his memories, his fears - and she had coped bravely with his somber mood. He could not remember her complaining or showing any sign of impatience... yet was it not about time he started taking care of her?

"A—" Findaráto had barely opened his mouth that he was already interrupted.

"Amárië!"

He had to look down to find the source of such a heartfelt cry.

"Astarë!" exclaimed Amárië, catching the little blonde thing that had just leaped on her. "I see you ran away from Mother and Father again..."

"I was looking for you and lord Findaráto!"

"Were you?" Amárië had kissed both her sister's round cheeks and she was now adjusting the flowers that had been entwined in Astarë's silky hair. "Did you miss me so much? You know we will be spending the next few days together."

But Astarë, although happy to be pampered by her elder sister, fought to remain serious and she said, "It was a quest, I had to find you, for Ingorion begged me to do so."

And before they could make any further inquiries about this odd statement, Amárië and Findaráto found themselves facing said Ingorion, who, by the look of it, had struggled much more than Astarë to squeeze himself through the dancers and the singers - he seemed strangely weary.

"Ingorion! Should I gather that Astarë has dragged you here?" she said, beaming at her Vanyarin friend.

"She did, yet I—"

But before he could finish his sentence, Amárië cut him off as she scolded her little sister, "Astarë, you cannot order people around like that, Ingorion could have had commitments of his today."

"I did not—"

"Excuse her, Ingorion, she—"

"As a matter of act, she said the truth, for I was the one who asked her to help me find _you_ ," said Ingorion and Amárië finally noticed something was amiss. Her friend was not all dressed like he ought have been, on a festival day, and it seemed the clothes he wore had literally been the ones he had grabbed first - that was rather strange, for the Eldar loved to display their best looks whenever they gathered in Valimar to celebrate and the Vanyar were not the last when it came to elegance.

Also, Ingorion had not addressed her and this 'you' had not been Amárië, but Findaráto whom he had been staring at all along.

"Has something happened, lord Ingorion?" asked Findaráto, slightly tensed.

The Vanya nodded, however he seemed hesitant to talk. He glanced around nervously, as the feast was going on around them in a merry melody, and he finally stepped forward Findaráto.

"My cousin Laurefindil, he came back. Just like you did," Ingorion whispered in his ear.

* * *

Ingorion looks similar to Ingoldo, but the idea was that it had to be similar to Ingwë. So Ingorion is actually from the root "Ingor" and it means "summit" (if anyone cares haha).

I see that time Amárië spent in the Gardens of Lorien as her recovering from what we would call depression nowadays, so she wouldn't been too keen to talk about it.

Why mynas of all birds? Because they can sing beautifully (I heard one who could sing the French national anthem actually haha)


	11. Two Golden Heads

**Borys** : the Dirty Old Coot haha that one had me laughing hard! I usually like Quenyan names more, but in Glorfindel's case, I think Laurefindil sounds a bit... well not as good as Glorfindel

 **Laerthel** : You got my really long answer, and there's still more I have to say! Thanks again!

 **Fadesintothewest** : Thank you! Yeah, this time I was really slow, but I have good excuse, I was on vacation haha.

It's been a long time! Truth is, I was on vacation and that was really nice. I wish I wasn't so afraid of planes, because I had plenty of time to write while flying. But I get so anxious, I can't do much, just watch movies and worry a lot haha which is dumb, really. Anyways, I did do some stuff and outlined the rest of the story. Even though I had pretty clear idea of how it was going to finish when I started, now I settled most details and came up with a few more flashbacks (for later though). So we'll [slowly T.T] make it to the end!

And again, thank you to everyone who favorited/followed so far!

* * *

 **Chapter 11 - Two Golden Heads**

"Laurefindil? The Glorfindel from Gondolin?" said Findaráto, so stunned that he did not realize he was squeezing Ingorion's arm hard.

"I suppose it would be how you knew him in Beleriand..." said Ingorion, trying to release himself from Findaráto's grip without being too abrupt.

"Thus he passed away too..." Findaráto's voice trailed and he frowned. His memories of the times spent in the Hall of Mandos were confused, but he had been aware of Turukáno's presence among the shadows of the grieving souls. Yet what conclusions could he have drawn from his presence there? The King of Gondolin could have died on the battlefield, his city however could have stood still without him - a foolish hope Findaráto had entertained so far.

"He has yet to tell us more of his life in exile, yet as soon as it came to his knowledge that you too had come back, my Lord, he was quick to ask for you," said Ingorion. "If you would agree to meet him, you would do him a great favor."

"I will gladly abide to his wish, of course, how could I refuse?" said Findaráto and he thought everything around him had slowed down, that the music and the laughter had gone lower and farther. "Has it been long...?" he added, his hands shaking lightly - he had let go of Ingorion.

"Mere days," replied Ingorion who was rubbing his chin, nervously, and as he peered around he whispered, "and I now fully understand Amárië's distress upon seeing you for the first time, after your reembodiment."

"Why so?" Findaráto's eyes strayed on Amárië who, while still holding her sister, stood a few steps away from them, out of earshot.

"Laurefindil, he... he seems so hopeless, you would think he left the Halls against his will... It is as if there is nothing his parents or I can do to improve his state," explained Ingorion. "I'm afraid I had not found you much changed, my Lord, when I saw you, back in the Halls of Ingwë, since we were both merely acquainted. Whereas Laurefindil and I... we were born on the same year and grew up together, like true brothers. And if indeed this body the Valar gave him is doubtlessly familiar to me, I cannot tell yet whose soul is in it."

Ingorion's genuine concern moved Findaráto more than he would have liked and he shifted slightly, uneasy. "I might be able to help, but only a little," he sighed, avoiding the Vanya's golden gaze. "He shall need his loved ones more than anyone or anything else."

"Perhaps... Shall you head to Tirion now with me, my Lord, or would you rather come after the festival ends?" asked Ingorion, anxious. In his mind, the sooner Laurefindil would meet with Findaráto, the sooner he would start to get better.

"I will follow you," said Findaráto who, although he felt torn, was eager to see Laurefindil, thinking it might enable him to unveil some of the mysteries behind his reembodiment - he hoped not to understand it fully, however with the help of Laurefindil, he might grab some of its meaning.

"Then, shall we...?"

"Will you give me a moment?" asked Findaráto, glancing at Amárië again.

"Of course, my Lord," said Ingorion, swiftly stepping back.

Amárië and her sister were singing a song, one Findaráto had not heard in a long time, for it was an old nursery rhyme he himself had learned at a very young age. When they saw him coming towards them, both beamed at him and he suspected that Amárië had guessed what he was about to say.

"It seems this festival is already over for me," Findaráto said, stroking Astarë's soft and thin hair as a way of silently acknowledging her presence.

"Festivals always come and go. Noldor, not so often," replied Amárië, looking at Ingorion who was pacing around, absorbed in his thoughts - she was immensely happy for her friend, but she knew too well what torments he was going through.

"If you were..." Findaráto started, unsure. His hand slid from Astarë's head to Amárië's shoulder.

"Go," she told him, smiling softly.

"But..."

"Lord Laurefindil does not need me," Amárië persisted and, in her arms, little Astarë did her best to look serious, in order to second her sister. "And if he is as weary as you were yourself back then, he shall appreciate you alone have come, for he surely would prefer a small audience."

"Still, Amárië..."

"Go, it is something you can handle alone."

 _Alone_ , she had said. And it struck him there was not much he had done by himself since he had been back in Valinor. "Alright," he agreed, at last.

"It might be the occasion for me to go back on the Taniquetil," said Amárië. There were trees in Tirion, but there were forests on the slopes of Mount Taniquetil and she loved dearly the red and orange foliage of autumn. And she liked not being away from her sister, who was still so young and so tiny and who grew and changed so fast.

"For how long?" he asked briskly.

"Astarë should dismiss me soon enough," answered Amárië and her smile widened as her little sister winked at Findaráto.

They were cute both of them, very adorable indeed, but he shared not their merriness - on the contrary he seemed almost bothered. "Would you not bring her with you in Tirion, instead?" he proposed.

Astarë's eyes had brightened with expectation, but she did not utter a word. A trip to Tirion was quite an interesting prospect and she thought that if she was lucky enough she might even end up going as far as Alqualondë.

"My parents would have to come along then," said Amárië, taken aback. "They would not let her stay away from them..."

"They are welcome to stay under our roof," was Findaráto's quick reply, "as long as they wish to."

"Ingoldo, what is the matter...?" wondered Amárië.

"I know you would not be far, I know you would come back, but don't leave me just yet," he said in a voice that was barely audible. "We won't always stay there, we shall travel often, I promise, however for the time being I need to dwell in my city."

"Then, we will come, we—" She could not finish her sentence, for, between she and Findaráto, little Astarë was wiggling her way down, clinging on Amárië's dresses.

"What are you doing Astarë?" asked Amárië, trying to hold her sister back.

"I shan't be meddling in your affairs any longer," squealed Astarë, skillfully dodging Amárië's attempts to catch her as she ran away from Findaráto.

"What is the matter?"

"He wants to kiss you, it is obvious, even for me," Astarë explained in a low voice, nodding at Findaráto who, hopefully, heard nothing of it.

Speechless, Amárië blushed deeply, releasing her sister who quickly disapeared in the crowd. She then turned around to face Findaráto and, walking back toward him, she took one of his hand in hers, entwining her fingers in his.

"I'm afraid I have to beg you to be a bit more patient with me," he said, his eyes sparkling as he met her gaze, "yet I shall make amends for it in due time."  
She shrugged and said, "I will tell your parents you have left earlier."

"Thank you." Indeed, he wanted to kiss her, but it ended up being a light peck on her lips, for he felt he did not deserve anything more. "Thank you, my beloved Amárië," Findaráto said again and there was some melancholy in the way he looked at her when their hands parted.

Amárië's heart fluttered in her chest, almost painfully, and as soon as Findaráto and Ingorion were out of sight, she pulled her chain out from under her robes. She did not look at the rings, she just rolled them between her fingers, absentmindedly, lost in memories and musings. Findaráto was so near, at last, yet so far also. The feelings were there, obviously, and his heart was turned towards her, towards Valinor, but part of him lingered in Beleriand and she could not blame him for that. However, Amárië hoped that meeting Laurefindil would bring Findaráto further on his path to recovery - truly, that was how she ought call it, a recovery.

* * *

Findaráto had barely been acquainted with Laurefindil, he had only known he was of Elenwë, hence he had been part of Turakáno's host. He had the golden hair of the Vanya, in a light shade that recalled the color of wheat, and his eyes were blue-grey like the restless sea under a cloudy sky. But, like Findaráto, his father and his siblings, he truly was a Noldo, tall and sturdy, and once mighty and proud - for now, he looked weary and Findaráto recognized too well the grief that tarnished his fierce gaze.

He had been seated in an armchair, by a large window, and he rose when Findaráto entered the room and their meeting was a strange sight to those who had not gone in exile, to those who had not dwelled in the Halls of Mandos. They greeted each other in low voices, soon speaking fast and almost excitedly, in Sindarin and Quenya alike, and it was as if two old friends were meeting after long years of sundering, whereas they had actually never been intimate. Whatever they chose to discuss first, no one knew, for they were left alone awhile and some secrets they now shared and could not reveal to anyone else.

"Will the others come back as well?" inquired Laurefindil when, at length, they had settled in seats, by the hearth where a small fire crackled, just enough to provide a little light and a little warmth to this chilly autumn day, the first of the season.

The question did not surprise Findaráto, who had been wondering about that matter as well, yet his answer was a humble one. "On that matter, I know no more than you do."

"I thought I would be happy to see them, my parents, Ingorion, those friends I had imagined I would never meet again... And I am, deep down, I am. However, at times, it is burdensome, having to face them, their stares, their questions... But how can I complain I, who walk again in the Blessed Lands, while others mourn in the Halls of Mandos? And what of those who still dwell in Beleriand... what lands has the Dark Lord not conquered by now?"

Findaráto heaved a sigh, he had not expected Laurefindil to bring any good tidings, but it seemed that in Beleriand things had worsened awfully fast after his own death.

"Why us? Why me, why not lord Turukáno?" added Laurefindil and he was staring intently at Findaráto, as if he did know the secret behind their reembodiment.

"It's been months since I was allowed to walk under the Sun and the Moon once more and I have not come up with a satisfying answer to that question," replied Findaráto, shaking his head.

"What were you told when you were summoned out of the Halls?"

"That I was ready to live again."

Laurefindil had heard that too, but the felt far from being ready. Frowning, he ran his hands across his face, as if he could erase some of the weariness by rubbing his skin hard enough.

"Lord Glorfindel..." said Findaráto, and the Sindarin name came out of his mouth naturally. "I am still doubtful and it happens that I do not know anymore if I seek company or loneliness, yet, believe me, it does get better and some of the guilt... wanes, eventually."

"They want to know, but I cannot tell them everything so soon, for some memories are too vivid and I have no desire to revive them."

Findaráto nodded, "I myself have barely been able to tell my father how I died and I fear the moment I will have to tell my mother."

Laurefindil was distracted for a moment and then he said, cautiously, "There were many songs sung about it, all throughout Beleriand."

They both fell silent and Findaráto had closed his eyes for a second - he would have to ask Laurefindil about Beren, at some point.

"Lord Finrod, there is a favor I would like to ask of you, if it is not too presumptuous."

"What is it?"

"As I said, my family is eager to hear my tales, while I feel rather... reluctant to speak," said Laurefindil with a sad smile.

"Of course, you would be," agreed Findaráto and pity filled his heart, for he fully understood what Laurefindil was going through. "Healing shall come through speech, however."

"I trust you to be right, but I would need a guide."

"A guide?"

"Question me," pleaded Laurefindil. "Question me, I know what happened to Nargothrond, to Lúthien and Beren, to Gondolin... I... I believe it will be less of a challenge if you would help a little at the beginning, Lord Finrod."

"I suppose I could be the one asking the questions, for once," said Findaráto, rubbing his chin. "But I should warn you, I am not so confident myself."

"Neither am I, really."

They both exchanged a glance, the faintest smile curved Laurefindil's lips. Even Findaráto felt invigorated to have found a companion in this unlikely episode of his life - indeed it was immensely great not to be alone anymore. And so at last Findaráto stepped out of the parlor, inviting all of those waiting outside - parents, cousins and members of their household - to come in, they found that Laurefindil looked a little apeased already. There were some discussions, but Laurefindil's father and mother agreed to let Findaráto speak for them and the interrogation soon began.

"Tell me, what has become of Nargothrond?" It might have been selfish to ask about his own kingdom before anything else, but Laurefindil had expressed the wish not to talk about Gondolin yet and Findaráto wished to keep the matter of Lúthien and Beren for later - well, it seemed even more egocentric to inquire about his death and it was still something he was not eager to discuss in public.

"It fell, my Lord, some thirty years after your own death."

"I had assumed so." The presence of so many inhabitants of his kingdom in the Halls could not have meant something else.

"There was a Man, Húrin, who was the leader of the House of Hador and who had himself dwelled in Gondolin during his youth, and he was made prisoner by Morgoth after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad."

"The Nirnaeth Arnoediad?" repeated Ingorion, as well as he could.

Findaráto solely had understood the meaning of these words and what kind of event it could have been - another battle, terrible by the sound of it. The name of Húrin was familiar too, although there was no face he could associate to it.

"The Fourth battle of the War of Jewels, the battle of the Tears Unnumbered," Laurefindil clarified soberly and he would say no more on the matter as of then. "As I said Húrin was a captive of the Dark Lord, chained to a chair on the Thangorodrim, and his wife sent their son to Doriath to be fostered, for—"

"King Elwë agreed to foster a human child?" wondered Findaráto out loud.

"He did," quickly replied Laurefindil and he threw Findaráto a pointed look. "Sadly, the child was cursed, like his all family was, as such was the wrath of the Dark Lord against Húrin Thalion, and he brought his doom with him when, eventually, after having reached adulthood, he wandered west and entered your kingdom, my Lord"

"How could he find the entrance, above the river Narog?"

By then, they had lost everyone around, but none dared interrupt them, knowing it was not time for tedious inquiries - and they were too happy to see Laurefindil, happier even to be assured he would remain with them long enough to tell them everything they wanted to learn about his life in Beleriand.

"In his errands he had met Gwindor, one of your lords, who had escaped from Angband and it was him who lead Túrin, the son of Húrin, in Nargothrond, where he was warmly welcomed by your nephew and his people. I heard they called him Adanedhel, the Elf Man, for it is said he was oft mistaken for a Noldo, as he was tall and handsome, and he soon became one of Orodreth's most trusted counsellor."

"Yet he was cursed," muttered Findaráto, somber.

"He was," nodded Laurefindil. "And so was all that he touched. Túrin convinced your people to build a bridge over the Narog and to fight the enemy in the open..."

"And...?"

"The Dragon came."

"Glaurung!"

"He lead the attack and ruined your kingdom," said Laurefindil, soberly. Stories of what had happened in the Halls of Nargothrond had reached Gondolin, but a precise account of the events might have been too cruel.

"Thus that is how my nephew and my little niece perished..." Findaráto had forgotten Laurefindil's family was in the room, he was lost in his memories awhile.

Of Nargothrond, nothing remained, as he had foreseen one day, a long time ago. Many treasures had been kept there, in the halls built by the Dwarves and the Elves, yet Findaráto, if he was fond of gems and jewels, was too wise to prize his possessions above all and rather he mourned deeply for his people. Could the sack have been avoided, had he not gone on a quest for the Silmaril? He was more inclined to think it would have merely been delayed, nothing more, and that in the end, the blooshell had been unavoidable.

"The dragon dwelled in your city for some time, however Túrin later took his revenge on it and slew it..." concluded Laurefindil and that was as far as he was willing to go for now, as he added, "But that is another story."

It did not feel like the weight on his shoulders had lessened, nor that his heart was lighter or his spirits slightly lifted, although one thing had changed and he thought that was maybe where it should start. His throat had warmed up, his voice was steadier and, moreover, its sound was not so alien to his own ears anymore - the Halls of Mandos had been the realm of silence.

* * *

Three days after their first meeting, the festival ended and Findaráto expected his family and Amárië to be back in Tirion soon. It was slightly foolish, but he missed them already, even if in the meantime he and Laurefindil had quickly agreed to meet daily, for a while at least, and as long as Laurefindil could bear it, since he still needed a lot of sleep and a lot of rest, like a child. But the time they spent together was different, somehow, and it did them both good to have someone to share some of their most intimate aspects of their unique situation. It was simple, for a word, a look was enough for mutual understanding.

And on that morning, when he was hoping to see his parents and Amárië before sunset, Findaráto did not dwell long on small talk, but rather he chose to ask the question that had been popped in his mind first when he had learned Laurefindil had been reembodied too - and that had nothing to do with Gondolin and the House of the Golden Flower.

"Would you... know what happened to Beren and Lúthien? Has news of their fate perhaps reached Gondolin the White?"

"It has, yes."

"What has...? Have they...?"

"I understand you would want to know, lord Finrod, and I shall do my best to relate what has been heard throughout Beleriand about their fate," said Laurefindil and for a second he felt glad, glad he could help someone, even just a little. "What should I say first...? What matters most, I suppose... They did it, they did accomplish the quest and stole a Silmaril from the crown of the Dark Lord."

Findaráto's grey eyes rounded and he gasped, suddenly out of breath. "A Silmaril has been recovered?" he exclaimed loudly.

"Indeed, it was said that, in Angband, Lúthien sang a song so powerful Morgoth himself fell into a doze, allowing Beren to steal one of the Silmarils, " told him Laurefindil. "After that, eagles brought them back in the forests near Doriath, we saw them fly in sky above our city..."

"How could he escape Tol-in-Gaurhoth? And how could Lúthien find him?" Findaráto felt utterly bewildered and ridiculously happy at the same time and he strove to express both these feelings at the same time. He was smiling, gaping and a few tears even gathered at the corner of his eyes.

"When Beren and you were held prisoners in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Lúthien was not idle. Against her father's will, she left Doriath to seek Beren and as she was heading towards Nargothrond, she came across lord Curufinwë and lord Tyelkormo who were hunting in the woods of Talath Dirnen. I... I'm afraid they deceived her into believing they could help her, yet their intentions were far from being noble ones and they held her prisoner in Nargothrond."

"Did they?"

"Yes... It was Huan who delivered Lúthien and they escaped together, fleeing to the north to reach Tol-in-Gaurhoth. They... they made it right after your death, my Lord, from what I gathered. Huan killed the werewolves, Lúthien purified the island and when they found Beren, weeping and mourning, he was bent over... your body, lord Finrod. It was them, Beren and Lúthien, who buried you on the island."

"I have been so terrified, believing Beren had died right after me..." Findaráto was crying, in silence, and Laurefindil was kind enough to pretend he did not notice.

"King Elwë did not expect to see him back in Menegroth either, they say."

"He would have not forsaken his promise, though, would he? They had the Silmaril with them..."

"They did not, at least, not then."

"You said they had taken the Silmaril off the Dark Lord's crown..."

"Right out of Angband they faced a wolf, the greatest of them, Carcharoth, and in the fight it ate Beren's hand, the one holding the Silmaril. It was retrieved from the beast's belly later, when a great hunt was organized in Doriath to slay the wolf and recover the Silmaril, however Beren was mortally wounded in the process..."

"No..."

"He died, so did Lúthien not long after... But they came back to life, they were both sent back, not to Valinor like us, but to Beleriand, and both with mortal lives, for such was the price Lúthien paid not to be apart from Beren ever. She chose the Gift of Men and shared his fate...They dwelled east, in Ossiriand, but not much is known of their lives after all these adventures."

Of what Laurefindil had said - so few words, so many wonders - Findaráto could only focus on one thing for now and, amazed, he muttered, "They wedded... They did wed...Have they had any children?"

"One son," was Laurefindil's short answer and he averted his gaze from Findaráto - he could not find the strength to tell him their son had died already, at the hands of the Fëanorians.

And while Findaráto was still processing this incredible tale - obviously some higher forces had been at work, ever since Beren and Lúthien had met - Laurefindil had something else on his mind, his own obsession. "It is strange, my Lord. I also happen to worry about the fate of a couple, one very similar to Beren and Lúthien."

"What do you mean?"

"Lady Itarillë, she wedded a Man too. And I did my best to save them, and found death doing so... it is odd, is it not?"

"How could that happen...?"

"That is one very long story, my Lord."

* * *

That's a lot of Beren and Lúthien, but Finrod would have definitely wanted to know what happened! And that's not a lot of Glorfindel, but he still has to get over his reembodiment.

I always pictured the Halls of Mandos being similar to Greek Hell, so even if Lúthien sang in front of Mandos, it was in front of his throne, in a "private" hall, meaning all the deads did not hear/see it because they'd be in a complete different area. So Finrod would not have been aware of their deaths (and their rebirths).


	12. Winter

I have to thank my friend's cats whom I've looking after this week, because they've helped me sitting still and focusing by taking (very) long naps on my lap haha

Please excuse me for the lame title.

* * *

 **Chapter 12 - Winter  
**

 **F.A. 541 - Winter**

"I did escape the city, lord Finrod, yet on our way through the mountains we came upon a Balrog, another one... and you would have understood that by then our forces were weakened and there were few warriors left that could have withstood such a powerful foe." Laurefindil paused, thoughtful, his chin resting in his head. "I have to admit I was quite weary from the battle myself, but when I saw the sinister silhouette, the dark fire, I thought of lady Itarillë and of her young son, Eärendil, and of our King who had found death when his tower had collapsed... And there were my people too, my household, still faithfully following me."

For a few seconds, his gaze wandered in the hearth and the fire crackling in it. He and Findaráto had stayed inside, in that parlor where they had first met, for a light snow was falling outside and none of them wished to leave the warmth, not when their discussion had taken a tragic turn.

"I drew my sword, I fought the wretched creature and I defeated it," he muttered at length, sober. "I remember watching it fall from the cliff, the blurry lines of its shadowy shapes against the pure white of the snow and the light grey of the mountain rocks. I remember this unexpected relief rushing through my veins - it was short-lived though. The monster was close, and not dead yet, and my hair was flowing from under my helm, my golden hair, that had defined myself ever since my birth... this hair was the end of me."

Findaráto waited for Laurefindil to continue and he was patient, for he understood how difficult it was to collect oneself when such sorrowful memories were involved. He was full of compassion for his friend, of course, but he admired him as well, for the Gondolindrim had not shed a tear so far, although a single combat against a Balrog was a dreadful event.

"The Balrog... it grabbed my hair while falling and there was nothing I could do but leap in the void. We fought still, not for long though, and we were both crushed as we hit the mountain's walls."

Stoic, Laurefindil had not stopped staring at the fire and Findaráto was impressed by his calm, recalling how he had cried unrestrainedly in Amárië's arms and also in front of his parents. But perhaps Laurefindil was not ready to cry, maybe it would happen later - or maybe he cried alone.

"Was it painful?" asked Findaráto, even though he reckoned it might have been an awkward question.

"I could not tell, it was the matter of a few seconds really. It almost was a merciful death compared to yours, for the Balrog had inflicted me rather light wounds, mere scratches and burn. I presume it had nothing to do with what the werewolf's teeth would have inflicted you, lord Finrod."

Findaráto shrugged, unconvinced. "Few of us can say they have defeated a Balrog."

"Fewer even survived the fight."

"Some foes are not meant to be overcomed, it seems."

"We all meet at match at some point, indeed," said Laurefindil, who managed to smile, although it was a feeble attempt, and Findaráto patted his hand, gently.

Their friendship had been born suddenly and it was already deep and full of understanding, as would be any bond between two people who had shared the same sufferings and had gone through the same journey. They found great comfort in each other's presence and as the days passed Laurefindil regained some of his strength, faster than could have been foretold and when winter had come he was sighted more than once in the white streets of Tirion, walking with his family, arm linked with his mother's. And soon the Noldor expected more of theirs to be brought back from the Halls of Mandos, for if they had believed Findaráto could have been an exception, they deemed that the arrival of Laurefindil might signal something greater.

As for Findaráto, his daily routine was now a busy one and between his own family, Laurefindil's and Amárië's - her parents and her sister had agreed to stayed in Finwë's tour - he had no more time to wonder if he would rather be alone or surrounded by many. Yet he was pleased, for it was much like his older self to be so active and if there was still room for improvement - he never saw enough of Amárië and found himself often longing for her even though they dwelled under the same roof -, Findaráto thought he was finally able to face his new life, despite the terrible stories Laurefindil had been telling him about the Wars of the Jewels.

Surprisingly, it was his father, lord Arafinwë, King of the Noldor in Valinor, who was by far the most affected by the ill tidings that came from Beleriand, although he had yet to hear in details the tale of the Fall of Gondolin. However, even a few short talks with Laurefindil had been enough for him to become fully aware of how disastrous the situation was for the exiles and the Sindar.

"Thus all Elven kingdoms have fallen?" lord Arafinwë dared ask on his third meeting with Laurefindil.

"Ours was the last to stand, my Lord."

"Where would the survivors have fled? Where has Itarillë gone?"

"South, my Lord... towards the mouth of Sirion, I presume... That was where Noldor and Sindar alike fled, save for those who followed the sons of Fëanáro."

Hearing the name, Arafinwë flinched and let himself fall on his seat. The Fall of Gondolin had grieved him greatly and his mood was somber these days because of it, however nothing felt more woeful to him than the Fall of Doriath, caused by the sons of Fëanáro and their wretched oath. He knew at some point he ought told King Olwë about the tragedies that had occured in Beleriand and he could not hope to conceal the part that the sons of Fëanáro had played in it. Yet the Teleri had not forgiven the Noldor for the first Kinslaying, would not the news of a second massacre only revived old wounds? And what could he do about it, he who had chosen to remain in Aman, long ago?

"They killed the son of Lúthien and Beren..." mumbled lord Arafinwë, dejected. The kinslayings horrified him, yet the murder - he could not think of another word to describe this dark deed - of Dior was what had really brought him down. He had believed a Half-Elven born of this improbable union, a wedding whose price had been a Silmaril, could have been a promising sign, but it had been vain to hope.

"Father, he had children himself, they might have escaped," said Findaráto who was worried about lord Arafinwë's increasing bitterness. He had spread a map on a table, one he had drawn with Amárië who had questionned him thoroughly about the geography of Beleriand and that resulted in a very detailed map of the continent.

Lord Arafinwë glanced at it and with a sighed, he asked "And who rules the Noldor?"

From what Laurefindil had just accounted, his line had ended while his brother's might have not yet, if Itarillë and her half-Elven son had survived their journey south and if Morgoth had not extended his dominion over all of Beleriand - that was a lot of "if".

"I can only speculate, but it has to be lord Findekáno's son, Gil-Galad, who happens to dwell on the Isle of Belfalas with lord Círdan, a kinsman of King Elwë," said Laurefindil, cautiously. He was eyeing the King with great concern and it was only out of sheer loyalty that he answered his questions, for he would have rather not revealed all he knew so soon and so fast.

"He was young though, he was born barely a few years before the Dagor Bragollach," muttered Findaráto who was also looking closely at his father.

"Well... who else could have inherited the crown? So few have survived the wars and of your house, my King, only your daughter Galadriel is still alive..." Laurefindil's voice was barely audible and he was deeply sorry to cause his liege such sorrow.

Galadriel, that was how Artanis was known throughout Beleriand, yet it sounded like a stranger's name to Arafinwë's ears. It was a precious name, of course, and he understood why her husband would have come up with it, but truth was it made him sad and he thought Galadriel belonged more to Beleriand than Artanis had ever belonged to Valinor.

"Are you sure she survived the fall of Doriath?" It was perhaps his greatest worry, these days, that his daughter might have passed away, in these far away lands, in these cruel wars, and he and his wife oft talked about it.

"She had crossed the Blue Mountains well before that, Father, and I would have known, had she... had she been in the Halls..."

Yet Arafinwë's mood remained dark. "What will happen to the Elves, to the Noldor and the Sindar? It was said, we all heard it in the North, and those words, I knew they were true, I knew it was how it would be, however... Could Melkor have conquered all of Beleriand? Could he rule further east, could he challenge the powers of Valinor?"

Laurefindil and Findaráto could not provide any answer and both decided to stay silent. They felt the same way, thinking they had said too much, too early, and that they had not allowed lord Arafinwë any time to let these terrible tidings sink in - perhaps it seemed even more disastrous for someone who had not gone into exile.

"Father... I shall like to walk in the gardens with you," offered Findaráto as they entered together Finwë's tower, back from their visit in Laurefindil's family house.

"Thank you, Ingoldo, yet at the moment I would rather go seek your mother."

Findaráto nodded and, watching his father climb the stairs that led to his chambers, he knew lord Arafinwë was devastated, almost as if he was personally responsible for the woes of the Noldor in Beleriand. Whatever happiness the son had gained, the father had lost, it seemed.

* * *

 **F.A. 72 - Doriath**

Findaráto's mood was obviously melancholic but his sister did not understand how he could be grim while so many wonderful things surrounded them. Spring in Doriath was ever beautiful and little white Nimphredils bloomed everywhere, gleaming in the grass like little stars in a green sky. And Artanis still felt this surge of joy everytime she caught a glint of this golden ring that adorned her right and she would have liked her brother to be as blissful as she was.

"There are more than one fine lady in Menegroth, I am convinced you could find a suitable bride among them... Trust me, not only are they beautiful, but they have the wits too," she said, beaming. "And they are all swooning over you because they were highly impressed with your tales. I daresay, you are quite popular, more than Aikanáro at any length." And she giggled, wrapping her arm around his.

"Since when are you flattering yourself to be a matchmaker, Artanis?" He did not call her Galadriel, or at least not when they talked in private. It was partly for the pleasure of annoying her and partly because it was his privilege as her elder brother to chose for her whatever name he liked most - although, admittedly, Celeborn had come up with a very charming Espessë. "Is that what marital life inspires you?"

Galadriel - she definitely thought of herself like that - frowned. She had not expected Findaráto to welcome her suggestion to flirt, but he had rebuffed her harshly and he seemed exaggeratedly crossed with her.

"Have you not considered it, really? Would not a king wish to have a heir?" she asked in a softer tone. Findaráto was one of the very few people she really did look upon and even though she loved to tease him from time to time, she never would have wanted to anger or pain him - and she had just done both, apparently.

Her brother remained still and silent, as if he had not heard her question.

"Why give her the ring back then? If not to seek a bride in Beleriand..." persisted Galadriel and as soon as the words had left her mouth, she realized she had gone too far.

Findaráto glowered down at his sister, his jaw clenched. "I freed her from our promise, yet I still consider myself bound to her, and her solely," he said, curtly. His voice was hard and cold and it was unlike him to be like that, so detached, so cool - clearly, he had done his best to sound emotionless.  
Galadriel was confused, for she had believed love had waned between Amárië and Findaráto, or at least that they had become estranged during the turmoils that had followed the darkening of Valinor - and they would not have been the only ones. But clearly she had been wrong, she could guess as much just by looking at her brother's pale and strained face.

"Why did she not come, then?" she whispered, almost fearfully.

"I could not let her come. Only misery and death awaited her in exile."

Galadriel gaped as she grabbed one of her brother's hand in hers, squeezing it firmly. Thus far, she had never seen him look so sinister, not even on the grinding ice.

"And there will be nothing left of my kingdom for a son to inherit, Artanis," he added, in a low voice, and he pulled her toward him. Findaráto put a kiss on his sister's forehead and they said nothing more on that matter ever again.

* * *

 **F.A. 541**

Amárië never was far from him, but they hardly had any occasion to meet face to face as they both seemed ever be surrounded by their families. Hers had come to Tirion after the festival, instead of going back on the Taniquetil, and Findaráto was grateful her parents had graciously accepted his invitation, however impromptu it had been. Her little sister was there also, delighted to discover the white city of the Noldor, and everyone loved Astarë. Since children were few among the Eldar, Arafinwë's whole household was delighted with her presence - they spared no effort to spoil her. Lady Eärwen and Lady Anairë were perhaps her most enthusiastic fans, although had not lord Arafinwë been so preoccupied by the Wars of Beleriand, he would have probably doted on her more than his wife and his sister-in-law, for he did have a soft spot for the little ones.

Findaráto was glad Amárië could enjoy her parents' presence, but he knew something was amiss, still, and he was well aware that he needed to clarify the reason behind his will to have Amárië stay in Tirion. After all, he would not have her being called his "Vanyarin lover" anymore as if she was some sort of shameful paramour. And those looks, those looks full of tenderness, she threw him when they happen to be in the same room without being able to have a private word, it made him feel restless and yearning for her. They did meet, they did see each other in quiet places, yet it was like they were both waiting for something and Findaráto deemed it behoved him to take the lead - he still felt he needed to make up for his wrongdoings towards her.

"Do you long for those lands that were yours?" she asked him one night, when they both had skipped dinner to escape in a part of the gardens where the trees were the highest and the thickest. During summer, their leaves were so large and numerous that even the light of the Mindon Eldaliéva was faint and diffused under such evergreen foliage, but autumn had come and go and branches were bare already.

"No," he replied at once and, as if he had realized his answer had been too short, he added, "The memory of Nargothrond is dear to me, indeed, and those halls I built happily. I cannot deny either that it was rather pleasant to rule, to call this kingdom mine... yet I shan't be too proud, for it is lost. From the start, it was meant to be lost."

"What of the freedom you had then?"

"I am still free, but no more will to leave the Undying Lands," said Findaráto and his handsome face was nothing but serious, and his grey eyes were set on hers.

"Did you not love to travel throughout Beleriand? Do you not wish you would have gone further east perhaps?" she inquired, lowering her gaze.

"I only need to close my eyes to be back in the green forests of Ossiriand and to hear the voices of the First Men. As for the East... what should I seek there?"

"The Inner Sea?" mused Amárië. Was he not, after all, utterly fascinated by the tale of the awakening of the Elves?

"I happened to leave Aman once, Amárië, and this is over," Findaráto stated and as he stopped walking, he leaned on a tree, gently pulling her against him. "So far I told you many stories, but that is just a small part of what has happened, for there is enough left to be said to keep us busy for years and years."

"Shall you stand by the hearth, every night, ready to declaim verses of your adventures in Beleriand?" At last, Amárië was smiling and she put her arms around him, resting her head on his chest.

"Perhaps," he chuckled, hugging her. "Yet what I wish to say is that... I have not talked about you much."

"I was not there," she said and she frowned slightly, for she thought Findaráto wanted her to talk about the Gardens of Lórien.

"I did bring you with me..." Findaráto said in a low voice, running his fingers in her golden hair. "My life in Beleriand was very different from the life I had in Valinor, before the Darkening, but some things remained the same and I thought of you often, for you dwelled in my memories, ever bright and merry..."

The night was chilly and one could tell winter would soon get colder, even in the Blessed Lands, but Findaráto wore a thick emerald cloak and he was only too happy to share it with Amárië, wrapping it around her and making sure every inch of her was covered.

"I had plenty of names for you... The ones from Valinor, of course. Mírimë, I cherished a lot, and Maquentë too, although it does not sound like a name a lover would give you." He spoke to her softly, his mouth so close to her ear that his breath tickled her neck and she could not help but shiver with pleasure. "Aiwë and Mintië suited you well, but you do not like being reminded of your short height, do you?"

It was right that the top of Amárië's head barely reached his shoulders, but, to be true, she had the frame most Sindarin ladies had and only seemed little because her folk was a tall one - and because Findaráto himself was taller than most.

"Then I dwelled in Nargothrond and learned Sindarin..." he went on, putting a kiss on her cheek. "Míwen, can you guess what it means?"

"Extremely tiny?" Amárië said, grinning. She had huddled herself against him, delighted that they got to enjoy some intimacy, and she felt feverish to be so close to him - her heart had not beaten so fast in a very long time. Everything about him was so familiar, from his smell to the shape of his hands, and she had not forgotten a single detail about it.

"Slightly under average, I'd rather say," Findaráto laughed. "You were Ríneth also."

"Ríneth?"

"Memory. The sweetest memory." And this time, he kissed her lips, cupping her face with one hand. "And you were Írwen and Glessil, desire and joy."

"Was that really about me?" Amárië was staring at him, eyes wide opened. It was quite like him to come up with so many names, he did it with anyone who was dear to him, however she had not expected anything in Sindarin and nothing so straightforward.

"Of course. I believe I would have called you anything as long as it spared me to use the name your parents gave you."

"Why so?"

"It was too painful a reminder," he confessed, kissing her again, his lips moving slowly on hers. "Amárië, I am sorry."

She was completely distracted, at the mercy of his mouth and his hands, and, letting out a small sigh, she managed to say, "What are you sorry for?"

"Many things... but mostly for the way I left you..." he muttered and that was something that had been bothering him ever since he had seen Amárië in King Ingwë's halls, after his reembodiment. "I was harsh, I was cold... I took all the decisions without even consulting you and realized too late I should have never excluded you from our debates, for you too were concerned by our quarrels... It was indeed just a matter of months before we were to be married. I'm afraid I overruled you and barely gave you the chance to argue back, yet you must understand that I had only one thing in mind at the time, your safeguard."

His eyes were half-closed and he seemed a bit downhearted, whereas Amárië felt herself burn with glee, so much that as she buried her face against him, a few tears rolled down her cheeks - tears of happiness.

"You might have been brisk, however I was completely hopeless myself," she told him and her embrace could not have been stronger nor tighter.

"I disappointed you," Findaráto said, a streak of sadness flashing in his shining grey irises. Amárië did not see it, but she heard his sad tone and she would have wanted him to rejoice that they were together, just like she did.

"You were everything to me, Ingoldo," she said, as she rubbed his chest, then his shoulders and the back of his neck. "Things held value in my eyes only if they did in yours and whatever you said was the absolute truth, whatever you did was what I should do. And I... I used to believe I could do nothing better than to wed you."

"But Amárië... you can stand on your own, can you not? You need me not to..." He was hesitant to finish his sentence and, bending his head down so their foreheads touched, he asked her, "does that me you do not... not anymore... Amárië, do you not love me?"

"I love you, Ingoldo, I love you better than I did before," she said, in a breath, as she searched for his lips. They kissed a while, clinging to one another, and they relished having found themselves again, at long last. "And... maybe you were right not to take me with you in Beleriand. Maybe I finally understood your reasons not to let me come..."

"Amárië, you were always perfect for me, do you not know?" Findaráto grinned and he felt his old confidence rushed through him which made him laugh merrily.

"Was I not a bit dimwitted?" she wondered, blushing. Truth be told, Amárië could have stayed there forever and she prayed for the Sun to rise late and for that wonderful night to last as long as possible.

"You were young and I, I was conceited," he said, nuzzling her hair.

"Conceited? Ingoldo, you surely never were conceited..."

"Oh, around you I was like a peacock, always trying to impress you, doing my best to be the center of attention... It really is wonder you did not run away from me back then."

"Has life in Beleriand humbled you, then?" Amárië teased him.

"What has become of me, I do not know, yet you, Amárië, you... you have become everything I foresaw you would and you even have exceeded my expectations, by far," he told her, sliding his fingertips under her chin.

She smiled, remaining silent, and they kissed some more, slowly and carefully, in order to to let this new reality sink in - the Darkening, the Exile, the Doom, none of these tragic events had torn them apart and in the end their love had never ceased.

"Amárië, I... I love you, I love you greatly. That fresh love I bore you, on that festival day when we were first kiss, this love is still intact and yet there is something deeper, burning within me... Amárië, I never considered I was no more betrothed to you. I did give you my ring back, however it was for you own sake, for, as far as I am concerned, I belong to you and to no one else."

"Ingoldo, there is—"

"Let me finish my beloved, please," he whispered, stroking her cheeks. "Amárië, I could easily get new rings... if you would agree to my proposal."

"Ingoldo, I kept the rings," she said, gently putting her hand on his mouth. "They have not been melted, for I kept them with me all along."

And he saw them, hanging on a fine chain, these two silver rings he had had forged, centuries ago.

* * *

It ended up being so long (5000 words !) that I though I might just cut it in half and make 2 chapters out of it. But I like it that way.

It's not so much about Glorfindel, but it would be too repetitive to go throught his own 'recovery' and anyways it's not his purpose in this story. I've been wondering a lot about the transmission of informations in Beleriand, i.e. how much Glorfindel could have known about the sack of Nargothrond and the fall of Doriath. I know Gondolin was not entirely secluded and I remember reading somewhere eagles brought tidings to Turgon (I'm pretty sure it's somewhere and that I am not making that up haha). Anyways he would have heard about these events, but surely some things he can't know, like how Finduilas loved Túrin and called for him till she died, or how Eluréd and Elurín died while Elwing survived and fled south with the Silmaril (and the ring of Barahir as well). It should become relevant later that he does not know about that.

Also I wanted to include another flashback, but it did not quite fit in the chapter, and it won't fit in the story later. But since it's there, I though I'd put at the end, as some sort of 'bonus' if I may say.

* * *

 **F.A. 462 - Nargothrond**

There were many carvings in his chambers, in Nargothrond, and all depicted sceneries of Valinor. The Trees, of course, were prominent, and Tirion too, but there was also the Taniquetil and its evergreen slopes, and there a keen observer could have spotted her, walking in a field of poppies, wind blowing in her dresses. Findaráto had carved Amárië of the Vanya himself, on his walls, and he had been careful not to forget a single detail, a fold in her clothes, a strand of hair, or a spark in her eyes - even then he deemed his talent was not enough to represent accurately her beauty. And that was on her that his eyes had strayed, a mere second, and it had been enough for Beren to understand.

"Is that a maiden of your acquaintance, my Lord?" he asked, taking a pause from their preparations. There were maps all over the table, some old and torn, some still unrolled, but none would provide them with a safe path to the North - it did not exist anymore.

"Indeed," replied Findaráto quickly.

"I gather she stayed in the Blessed Lands, did she not?"

"She did."

It was obvious the King of Nargothrond was reluctant to say more on the matter, even though, despite everything, Beren would have loved to hear more about Valinor - and lord Finrod Felagund was a talented story-teller, he had heard. But at that moment Beren's heart was filled with pity for this mighty prince of the Noldor, the fairest and the wisest of them all, according to songs.

His gaze shifted from the maiden on the wall to the ring he bore, the ring of the house of Finarfin that now belonged to the line of Barahir. This oath that bounded his kin to lord Finrod Felagund was both a blessing and a curse, Beren reckoned. Even among the lords of Finwë's blood he could have hardly found a more powerful ally, yet he was also well aware he would cause the death of such a noble lord, and already a dear friend.

"I miss Tinuviel, I miss her most cruelly, and any deed I would accomplish, I would do for her, my Lord, and not for me. Yet there is no greater relief than to know she is safe in the kingdom of her father, within the girdle set by her mother, however miserable being sundered can make us both."

"Even if you might never see her again?"

"If it is my fate to die on this Quest, I shall die happy knowing I spared her terrible sufferings," said Beren, without hesitation, but anguish seized him nonetheless, for, above all else, he dreaded not meeting with Tinuviel ever again.

"You do love her deeply."

"So do you," stated Beren and he looked once more at the carvings and at Amárië, who would never know pain and misery.


	13. Silver Rings

**Silentforce666:** Thank you for your kind words, I'm glad you enjoyed reading the story! I love flashbacks too... everything was better before, it seems :)

I was not too slow for once, but to be honest the flashback was almost entirely written already, since I had planned to insert it in previous chapters! So far the flashbacks were in chronological order, but this one breaks the rule.

I totally picture Finrod as being very generous with friends and family and going overboard at times, because he gets too enthusiastic. Also,before the Darkening, I can imagine him being a bit conceited at times, but not as in he thinks he is better than the others, but because he might have been a bit too aware of his skills (I hope it makes sense, anyways it's how I tried to write him...).

* * *

 **Chapter 13 - Silver Rings  
**

 **Y.T. 1494 - Taniquetil  
**

In the forest, they had come across a pond whose water was still and clear and beautiful purple waterlilies emerged from it. Fish could be seen circling around algae and sometimes one would nudge the pond's smooth surface, in search of little insects to eat. Not far from it, a few doe were resting, half hidden by ferns, and squirrels were chasing each other, swiftly jumping from branches to branches in the forest's tall trees. Amárië had kneeled on the bank, which was covered with thick green moss, and she was gazing intently at the pond's bottom where pebbles of all sorts gleamed under the light of Telperion. It seemed the water was not too deep and she was toying with the idea of dipping her feet in it, yet she did not want to disturb the fish's peaceful wanderings.

Behind her, Findaráto lazily laid against a tree, arms crossed behind his head, and he was looking at her, trying to guess her thoughts. He had understood something had triggered her curiosity - that was easy enough to guess, Amárië was still like a child, marveling at everything she saw, and would most likely always be this way - but he was not sure whether it was the waterlilies or the pebbles. He even wondered if she would try to catch a fish, but then perhaps it was just that Amárië loved water, especially the gentle and sweet water of lakes and rivers.

Findaráto was not always so idle, usually he would have stood next to Amárië and he would have told her everything he knew about ponds, starting from Cuiviénen - it was not per se a pond, but that was still a formidable inland sea and the first contact the Elves ever had with water. Yet for once he felt no desire for scholarly digressions, for in his pocket was a pouch containing two silver rings, one for him, the other for Amárië.

"What is it that you find so fascinating in this pond, dear Amárië?"

"The pebbles."

He smiled, nodding. "And why so?"

"They shine in the pond's bed, among the waterlilies, and through the water, it is a pure delight to the eye. Also I wonder if these would look pretty on a necklace or a bracelet, but obviously it would be better not to let them dry... Perhaps in a tank we could recreate the beauty of nature's setting, however it would be useless, would it no be?"

And he saw her bending over the pond, the tips of her hair flirting with the water, and she was wholly absorbed in her contemplation.

"Amárië, come here please. I have a gift for you and I daresay it is worth a couple of these pebbles, at least."

She turned around to look at him, her brow slightly furrowed, and said, "Ingoldo, there is no need for you to give me any more jewels, already I—"

"I know, sweet one, and it is true I might have been slightly too excessive," he said, extending his hand so she would grab it. "Yet you would not blame me for spoiling you a little bit, would you? I cannot help it really, for when I set my eyes on you, I would do anything to please you." And he pulled her against him, locking her in his arms.

"Am I such a fussy lady then?" she inquired.

"No, not at all." It was true Amárië never asked for anything, but to spend time with him, and it was precisely this genuine modesty that made Findaráto feel the urge to shower her with the most extravagant gifts - and he was good at it. "It is I who am a hopeless romantic, it seems."

Amárië glanced around, in search of some sort of packet. "What have you brought with you, Ingoldo?"

She, who used to own very few jewels and who used to wear only white or pale blue clothes - simple fashioned ones, besides -, had been given enough gems to fill the old trunk in which her herbaria were stored and even more dresses, frilly, lacy or vaporous things she never knew when to put on. There were the books also, copies of essays of all sorts he had ordered on her behalf, and maps, and rolls, some containing poetry he had written himself. She did cherish all of it and, truth be told she would have cherished anything as long as it came from him, but she felt a bit bewildered too and so did her parents who, although of noble extraction, lead a rather humble life.

"It is something useful, for once," said Findaráto, laughing merrily. "I flatter myself I may have found the perfect gift for you, dearest."

"I already received the most perfect gift when you said you loved me," Amárië let out as she ran her fingers on his chest.

Her words made Findaráto blush and it was a rare occurence. Between the two of them, he was the sentimental one and since the festival he was ever singing her praises, not only express his love for her, but also for the pleasure of testing his oratorical skills. On the other hand, Amárië adored him silently, yet when she did express the feelings she bore him, she always did it in a very candid manner and that often resulted in Findaráto losing his capacities for a few seconds.

"Amárië... why is it that you can blow me away with one sentence?"

"Your speech is perhaps too cumbersome at times, dear Hanquento, and some things get lost into it," said Amárië as she grinned and huddled herself closer to him.

He burst in laughters, hugging her and putting random little kisses on her face. "You may be right, indeed, you may be right..."

"I gather it is not mere love you shall offer me today?"

"Oh no, but you will need to kiss me some more, if you hope to unveil this secret."

He rolled onto his side, dragging Amárië along, and they kissed a long time, long enough that they could have both forgotten why they were kissing in the first place. Even when they broke apart, as Amárië had grown more curious than affectionate, it took a while for Findaráto to recollect his thoughts and he made many playful attempts to go back to kissing. Their hair had tangled, hers being a shade darker than his, although her golden locks were shinier than his pale blonde ones, and their clothes were crumpled, but at length Amárië showed enough stubbornness and Findaráto yielded.

"It is a tiny gift, yet it is a most precious one," he whispered and he handed her a little satin pouch embroidered with the arms of his father's house - the two intertwined serpents and the crown of flowers.

"Are these...?" muttered Amárië whose gaze shifted from the rings to Findaráto.

He nodded, smiling fondly at her. He felt so happy and so moved to see how stunned she was, he was completely unable to deliver the small speech he had prepared for the occasion - something grandiose and a tad pompous perhaps.

"Does this mean...?" breathed Amárië. Her blue eyes were filled with tears and she was staring at him in awe. Findaráto himself was far from being as cool and as collected as he would have liked to be and his hands were shaking when he took the smallest of the two rings to put it on her finger.

"What did you think, little Amárië?" he said, kissing the corner of her mouth. "That I would let you run around any longer without making my intentions clear? I would be far too afraid someone would steal you from me."

"Steal me? What a strange idea, really!" She giggled and it was her turn to slide the ring on his finger - she was trembling too.

"Oh, I saw those Vanyarin fellows of yours lurking around your house," he joked, but deep down he was cursing himself for having made such a stupid remark while he had planned to tell her much more beautiful words.

"You are being deluded, Ingoldo."

"You have to say my beloved and husband-to-be Ingoldo from now on," said Findaráto as he hugged her tight. "And I shall call you dearest and utterly precious wife-to-be Amárië. Or what about Sweet and Sparkling Star of the Vanyar? Your folk is known as the fair one, however I believe your beauty surpasses by far even the highest standards... The color of your eyes, it is the pure sapphire blue of the water in the lagoons around Alqualondë, but it even outshines shappires, for I have yet to found a jewel as clear as your irises. How could I not be enthralled by your gaze..."

Findaráto was definitely lost in his romantic ramblings, yet for once Amárië was not paying attention to what he was saying. His tone alone was soothing and loving, but it was just a background noise, for as her head rested on his chest, she was listening to his heartbeat and his steady breath - it was enough to delight her.

She thought she was the luckiest of the Eldar, to have met Findaráto and to be miraculously loved by him, and it seemed to her nothing better could have have happened in her life.

She felt blessed, indeed.

* * *

 **F.A. 541  
**

The gifts, Amárië had put them in a trunk and it had remained shut ever since Findaráto had left Aman. She had deemed the end of their betrothal did not allow her to go around showing off in dresses he had had made for her or wearing necklaces he had carefully selected for her - anyways she had no taste for such fancy items that she would have worn more to please him than to flaunt herself. The rings, she had kept close to her heart, hanging on a chain, unbeknownst of all, or almost all, for her parents knew she had never really given up on the betrothal, and lady Eärwen and lord Arafinwë too.

Still in the gardens, huddled together under Findaráto's cloak and thus oblivious of the winter cold, they had entwined their hands and both of them were staring at the silver rings that now shone on their fingers. They were equally startled by what had just happened, for they had so long been convinced they would never meet again, or at least not before the end of Arda, and it felt incredible they were to be betrothed once more - or had their promises simply never been broken?

"I was like you, Ingoldo, I have ever considered I belong to you," said Amárië who was gently stroking his cheeks.

"Part of me hoped you had moved on, for your own sake..." he muttered, grabbing one of her hands and kissing it.

She shook her head. "It was out of question."

"Did you... did you have any suitors though?"

"Few." Truly, there had not been much of them and it had happened long after the Noldor's flight, when some had believed there was a slight chance she had recovered from Findaráto's departure.

"Forgive me, it is a foolish inquiry," Findaráto apologized, a bit sheepish. "And... to be honest, I had asked my mother about this, already."

Amárië chuckled softly, putting a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Tell me, who, among the Eldar, could match the skills of Finrod Felagund, King of Nargothrond and Friend-of-Men?"

He shrugged, falsely humble. He would have been the first to admit it was one of his rare guilty pleasures to be praised by Amárië, and it sounded even more flattering when she enunciated his titles in her clumsy yet cute Sindarin. "Perhaps some of my father's Vanyarin cousins, of Ingwë's blood..."

"You are too modest, Ingoldo," told him Amárië and again she pressed herself against him. She had seen the sky was turning paler, eastward, and she wished she could have Findaráto all for herself a while longer.

"You are mocking me, are you not?"

"A little, indeed."

Findaráto laughed again, loudly, and it echoed in the gardens where birds were now singing to welcome sunrise. It was the silliest bit of conversation he had had in decades, centuries even, and it felt awfully good, as much as it felt good to be with Amárië.

* * *

The news of Findaráto and Amárië's betrothal could not have surprised anyone who knew them, nonetheless it caused both their families great happiness and it was soon decided proper celebrations were to be held in Finwë's tower. As it happened, Lady Indis and her daughter Findis were already on their way to Tirion - Findaráto suspected that his mother had called upon them to lift up his father's spirits - and lady Eärwen's eldest brother had also departed from Alqualondë. The only thing slowing down Findaráto's enthusiasm was his father's melancholic mood, as lord Arafinwë had become very preoccupied by the wars in Beleriand.

He met often with Laurefindil to discuss these mournful matters and Findaráto was often present as well, yet there was nothing he could do to really help his father. Of course, in public, and even in front of his household, lord Arafinwë acted like he always did and, except those who knew him very well, none could detect the faint weariness in his grey gaze. And when Findaráto and Amárië came to seek his blessing, he felt genuinely glad they were to wed and he long congratulated his son and his wife-to-be, warmly embracing them both. It seemed only fair that Findaráto was to be happy, yet lord Arafinwë could not forget the others, the dead and those still suffering in Beleriand. How long could the Valar ignore their sorrows and cries, how long would West remain out of their reach?

With his wife, and with her solely, was he able to open up about his fears and doubts and Findaráto himself ignored the depth of his father's reasoning. He had only suspicions and he too turned towards lady Eärwen for counsel, joining her in her parlor on snowy mornings.

"I would not delay the celebrations anymore, Mother, for we both have been patient enough and our betrothal has lasted for centuries," said Findaráto, mere days after the big announcement. "Yet Father worries me as of late... He seems disturbed by what Laurefindil has reported, although we should have expected that the situation in Beleriand has worsened."

"Your father still wonders if he ought not have followed his brothers into exile, he wonders if he should not have... shared their fate," explained lady Eärwen who was also alarmed by her husband's apparent dejection.

"He was perhaps the only one who took the right decision and whose trust of the Valar never wavered," sighed Findaráto.

"Loyalty he has towards the Valar, yet there is also his loyalty towards his family." Lady Eärwen understood it better than anyone else and her recollection of the moment Arafinwë had come back from Araman to seek the Valar's pardon was acute. She knew how her husband had been tormented by his choice, how he had always felt guilty, deep down, for having turned his back on the Noldor.

"Mother, never would have Nolofinwë blamed—" whispered Findaráto, pale.

"I know, Ingoldo, but part of the little brother still thinks he belongs with his elder brother and he cannot quite forgive himself for having abandoned his kin."

"He did not abandon us, he did not..."

"He did not, he followed his own path," said Lady Eärwen, firmly. "However given the current situation... it is harder than he expected to face the choices he made. But don't you worry, Ingoldo, and don't you make Amárië wait any longer." She managed to smile, and it was a warm and heartfelt smile.

Findaráto looked down at this ring, its silver gleam was a marvel to him. "I owe to thank you, Mother."

"Do you, my son?"

"Father and you, you took care of her, when..." Instead of finishing his sentence, he waved his hand and he coughed. "Well, you were a great comfort to her, of that I am sure."

"I remember quite well the look in your eyes when you came down the Taniquetil, it was heart wrenching to see... You told us nothing, but it did not fool me, Ingoldo, and I knew it had been a painful parting... and I knew you would not have let her come with you, out of love for her, and for no other reason."

"Most had assumed we had become estranged..."

"Most were wrong, but your father and I are wise, are we not?" said lady Eärwen with a smile. "We dared not make the first move, when she came back from the Gardens of Lórien, yet eventually we met her in Valimar and on the Taniquetil also, and at length she agreed to visit us, from time to time, and we did our best to make her feel home within these walls."

"That is precisely why I feel thankful, Mother."

"We did it for you, Ingoldo, yet we did it for her also, for we are very fond of Amárië." Lady Eärwen gazed awhile at the window, through which emerged the magnificent shape of the Mindon Eldaliéva and of its silver beam, and then she said, in a merry tone, "Shall we be ready to hold a feast in a fortnight from now? By then winter should have softened and it will not be long before Spring and the New Year, so that you may even be wedded during Summer if you wish to."

Amárië, Findaráto and their parents alike had agreed it was unnecessary to wait a whole year for the wedding to take place, given that they had first exchanged their vows more than five centuries ago.

"A fortnight seems a reasonable amount of time," said Findaráto, grinning at his mother, and looking at her, he thought of how much he loved her silvery hair. In Doriath, King Thingol, and some Elves closely akin to him, like Celeborn, sported hair like hers, and it had oft made him feel nostalgic, for he missed dearly the Swan-Maiden of Alqualondë.

"You are alright, Ingoldo?" Lady Eärwen asked, patting his arm softly. She was gazing at him with fondness and as she did, she felt this strange mix of joy and grief filling her heart. It happened often ever since her eldest son had come back to her, for his return was an unexpected blessing, yet it was also a reminder that her three other children were still far - whether it was in Beleriand or in the Halls of Mandos - and that one of them, she would never see again.

"Finally, I am, Mother," Findaráto replied and he paused, before adding, "Ought we not have told him everything? Laurefindil was unwilling to reveal all he knew, but he could not refuse to answer Father's questions..."

"You both did well. Your Father had foreseen most of these disasters in any case, Laurefindil and you merely confirmed what he had guessed long ago."

"We all heard the Doom..." muttered Findaráto.

"This burden is no more yours to carry, Ingoldo," said lady Eärwen, grabbing his hand.

"I cannot forget so easily, Mother, but it seems I finally look forwards the years to come. And the shadows of the past... are just shadows, now."

* * *

We don't know much about Eärwen from the books, but she can't possibly have been boring, she was the mother of four amazing Elves after all :)

All I can say about next chapter is that we'll see pretty much all characters that have come up in the story so far gathering together (it'll be a nice change from all those one-on-one discussions I like too much haha).


	14. The Feast - part 1

**Silent:** Thank you! This chapter is longer haha (but there is way less fluff though). I'm afraid I want Finarfin to be tormented a bit longer although by the time he gets to celebrate his son's wedding he should be at peace with himself!

 **Laerthel** : personally I have nothing against the sons of Fëanor, but I suppose that among the Eldar they received much more mixed reviews than among fans... I'd like to take some time to develop a bit more this friendship between Laurefindil and Findaráto, I'll see where I can put that. I'm glad you liked the small part with Beren, I wasn't sure I was going to include it at first.

I haven't mentioned Írimë/Lalwen (the third child of Indis and Finwë) so far, because I... sort of forgot and even in this chapter I thought it'd might be unnecessary to mention her since so many characters are already involved. Also I can't really make a quick reference to her, since we barely know anything about her and whatever I would have written would have required too much explanations (it annoys me though, that I forgot her...).  
Also I would have liked Indis to use Finarfin's mother-name, but as it happens his mother-name is Ingoldo, just like Finrod. Since it might have been confusing, I used only Arafinwë.

* * *

 **Chapter 14 - The Feast, part 1  
**

Amárië's only wish had been that the venue for their betrothal feast would be an outside location, as she wanted the stars to shine above their heads and because she deemed trees to be a handsomer than pillars. She and Findaráto had been allowed to use once again the gardens of the Mindon Ediliéva, up the highest part of Tirion, for it was there that centuries ago they had first celebrated their love, mere months before the Darkening. This time, the guests were significantly fewer and the merrymaking itself was also less grandiose, but, had there been just the two of them, Amárië and Findaráto would have been satisfied nevertheless, for they had long believed they would never meet again, let alone finally getting wedded.

Garlands and lanterns had been suspended in the trees and at dusk fireflies had joined in to provide a little more light to the festivities. Long tables, covered with delicious dishes and fresh drinks, had been places on the grass whose bright green was overwhelmed with the white of blooming snowdrops and that was all they needed really, along with some music provided by a choir of Teleri - mostly companions of lady Eärwen - and of Vanyar - from lady Indis's household. And the trees in these gardens were marvelous, high and thick, each and everyone of them was like statue, with its own personality, its own soul, and plants grew wherever they would, for King Ingwë had wanted nature to rule, in his gardens, and not the Elves.

Shining brighter than the stars in sky were the two betrothed. Findaráto was simply splendid, his whole self being an ode to the glorious days of the Eldar, when they lived by the light of the Trees. He seemed taller than ever, perhaps because he feared no more being look at, and he moved gracefully, with ease, and his hands had regained their power. Still his garments were more sober than what he used to fancy and his words, chosen more carefully, but it was part of the many changes that had occured over the years, some being more noticeable than others.

Love had been an excellent remedy, the love his parents bore him, the love from his family and the unceasing love Amárië had for him. Yet something else had been taken great part in Findaráto's healing process, and it was the land itself, the blessed land of Valinor - and its influence would be endless. He had not stayed so long in Beleriand, he presumed, not enough that his strength, some power from Aman, had not faltered entirely or else Sauron would have had him killed faster. But he knew he had been on the wane, like all the other Noldor, and that it was not all due to hardships and grief. The mere fact that he had been away from Valinor had weakened him as the mere fact that he was back strenghtened him.

Next to lofty and lordly Findaráto, most ladies would have seemed plain, but not Amárië of the Vanyar whose beauty was stunning, even for one of the Fair Folk. She was clad in vaporous white dresses and flowers were entwined in her long golden hair, however, except for the silver ring sparkling on her finger, she wore no jewels. Findaráto would have said she needed no gems to shine, for she was herself like a bright star, yet Amárië had told him her happiness was her best ornament. And she did look blissful, she laughed and hummed along all songs being sung, and never letting go of Findaráto's hand, she greeted every single one of their guests. But once they were done with formalities, she danced and she was lithe and tireless - a sure signe of her well-being.

"Will you teach me the dances they did in Menegroth?"

Findaráto had been following her around, gaily, and a wide grin would not leave his face as he replied, "I'm afraid I might not be the best teacher."

"Of course, you are the best," said Amárië, confident.

"You flatter me." He let out a giggle.

"Oh, I am simply being rational, since you are the only among our noble assembly who had stepped in the girdle of Doriath," she teased him. "But if I could chose, it would be wiser to have Angaráto teach me, he would truly be the best teacher in this specific field."

She had hesitated before mentioning the name of his brother - although he really was the best dancer in the family - but Findaráto's smile did not falter.

"Perhaps you will have the chance to ask him yourself someday," he said, for, during a brief, happy moment, it seemed a likely outcome that Angaráto was to walk again in the streets of Tirion, someday.

"Don't you think more should come after you and Laurefindil?" wondered Amárië.

"We are exceptions, the rules were bent for us," he told her and she had heard him say so quite often already - yet even he felt strangely optimistic, that was maybe because of his own merriness.

"Could the rules change?"

"I do not know what should happen for the Valar to go back on their decisions... But today shall not be the day we found the answer to this tricky question, as today, it is all about you and me," said Findaráto and he cupped her face, kissing her lips. "We ought be selfish a bit and I shall teach you how they danced in Menegroth and I shall be an excellent teacher."

"Of course," she chuckled, before focusing on the new steps he was showing her.

* * *

Lady Indis was part of the first generation of Elves born in Aman and she had seen many summers passed by, yet she was graceful and fresh like a maiden on the verge of being wedded. She was a great beauty, celebrated by her people in many poems and songs, and her oval face, with her pink dewy lips and her delicate pale eyebrows, was truly that of a queen. Her long flaxen hair shimmered softly, even on cloudy days, and, since she had been convinced by her kin to let go of her black mourning clothes, ever she wore white dresses, for it was her favorite color. The former Queen of the Noldor had had her share of sufferings in life, from the first days of her wedding with Finwë to his tragic passing in Formenos, yet she was resilient and she firmly believed that all of her children and grandchildren (and now great-grandchildren) would be reunited in Valinor, one day - and she lived for that moment.

Among her daughters and sons, Arafinwë was easily the one who had taken most after her and it was not just the blonde hair that made him more of a Vanya than a Noldo. But she knew he would have never forsaken his father's folk and even if ultimately he had chosen not to go in exile, part of him had gone there, part of him was still with Nolofinwë. And he also had taken up his father's crown, for he ruled the Noldor in Valinor, and he was a good king, she knew. However Eärwen had been right, Arafinwë was downhearted and it seemed serious enough that his wife had sought the help of his mother.

"I find that the reembodiment of lord Laurefindil is troubling you much," said lady Indis, once guests had scattered, to dance and to chat, and that she and Arafinwë were alone, under a mighty oak tree. "Had you expected that it would be one of your sons or one of your nephews who would be next to step out of the Halls of Mandos, perhaps?"

"Mother, it has nothing to do with him, but with what he reported."

"Did you not know war was raging in Beleriand? Has not Findaráto already told you of the Battle of the Sudden Flame and of the many souls dwelling in the Halls?"

"Not a single Elven kingdow stands still," muttered Arafinwë. He was a bit bothered his mother would tackle the matter during the feast, and without preambles, but he could tell she was sincerely concerned with him and it softened his temper.

"Had you been there, with them, these kingdoms would have fallen nonetheless. And you would have died too, vainly." The blood of the princes of Finwë's house had been spilled too much already, she thought.

"Was it not my fate?" shyly asked her son.

"Obviously not, my dear Arafinwë, for we would not be having this conversation."

"Could I have been wrong?" he persisted.

"I think not," and lady Indis spoke with such resolution that Arafinwë felt himself being shaken out his somber mood. He straightened a bit, adjusting the fine crown resting on his head, and he stared at his mother - he considered her awhile, reckoning she had suffered much more than he because of the Darkening and the flight of the Noldor, yet she had not lost her faith.

"Shall you tell King Olwë about the second kinslaying?" Lady Indis smiled at him and she gazed at the crowd, her eyes focusing on Tolwë, the eldest son of Olwë, who was also called Olwion and who was one of the closest friends of Arafinwë.

"Should I not?" retorted her son, genuinely surprised. Few individuals knew a second kinslaying had occured, for it was a well kept secret thus far.

"He should be told and he would surely see it as a great sign of friendship if you did it yourself. For, do remember, you cannot be held responsible for the deeds of the sons of Fëanáro. Neither you, neither your own children and those of Nolofinwë."

"They are my kin, Mother, they are the grand-children of my father, just like my sons and daughter, just like my nephews and niece."

"They swore an Oath no others did, it should be enough to set them apart from..." Lady Indis dared not finish her sentence, nonetheless it was obvious she had been about to say 'my own kin'.

"I fear that if King Olwë and his people should learn about this kinslaying, Aman might be forever shut to the exiles..."

"Why would all the Noldor be blamed for the actions of so few of them? Arafinwë, my dear son, you chose to stay here, you sought the Valar's pardon and obtained it, how could you be involved in wars you refused to fight?"

"I am as involved as much you are, Mother. I am involved, for my children chose to go on and cross the grinding ice."

Lady Indis frowned, because Arafinwë was right. She relied on the Valar, she had never doubted them, not even when her husband had been murdered by Melkor, yet she also cared deeply for her family and oft her mind had wandered far away, in lands she had sometimes cursed, for that was where her son and her grandchildren had found death and misery.

Truth was, lady Indis had no love for Fëanáro and less and less for his sons ever since they too had sworn this dreadful Oath of theirs. It had not always been so, though, and at first she had taken pity on him, convinced that the two of them would eventually find a way to get along well, as time passed by. She had had no intentions of replacing his mother, yet she had wanted to be an affectionate step-mother, wishing there would have been no disctinctions between him and her own children in their household.

But Fëanáro had hated her from the very beginning and he had carefully avoided Finwë's tower once Findis had been born. Lady Indis could bear his hatred towards her, she could even forgive him for it, however she found it difficult to excuse his attitude towards his father and it saddened her greatly that Finwë's relationship with his son should be strained because of their wedding. And lady Indis had lost all hopes concerning Fëanáro the day he had threatened Nolofinwë: she could not tolerate this display of violence towards her eldest son. Especially since she was well aware how sincerely Nolofinwë had tried to win Fëanáro's good graces.

And what of the following events? Finwë had gone to Formenos, joining Fëanáro's exile - he was good father, without a doubt, but he loved his eldest child best, as he had loved Míriel best too. Later, at the reconciliation, lady Indis had not believed Fëanáro's words to be heartfelt and she had found she had been right to be wary, when the innocent Teleri had been murdered in Alqualondë, and when the ships had been burned. Thus she could not be surprised Fëanáro's wrath still had heavy consequences on the Noldor, wherever they were.

"Do not misunderstand me, Arafinwë, I do hope all of Finwë's children will be reunited one day. Mine and hers alike," she finally said.

Her son nodded silently and lady Indis's eyes fell on Findaráto and Amárië. They were beautiful, the two of them, radiant even, as their happiness shone brightly on their faces. Amárië was lucky, she thought, for Findaráto would always follow her on the Taniquetil, and he would also want to visit Alqualondë every now and then. And both of them shared this same vivacity of mind, they would surely want to travel throughout Aman and they would do so without having to worry - Findaráto would not be a King, he would remain a Prince, and that would be enough.

"Can you not be happy, Arafinwë? Look at your son, look at the way he smiles... who would have thought it possible, barely a year ago?"

Completely oblivious of what was going on around them, Findaráto and Amárië were still dancing some dance lady Indis did not recognize and she presumed it was something Findaráto had learned in Beleriand.

"I had not foreseen this, indeed."

"Should it not outweigh your grief today, at the very least?"

"It does, Mother, it really does."

* * *

Anairë was a tall lady, athletic yet slender, and during the Years of the Trees she had ridden often with her husband and her children, across Eldamar and some wilder areas of Aman. She had long black hair, pale skin and a piercing grey gaze, for there was not much that came by unnoticed when she was around - she was a skilled huntress and above all she loved hawking, raising and training the birds herself.

The ressemblance between her and Aredhel was striking, and Laurefindil found it unsettling at first, as it seemed he was facing a ghost, and as the death of the White Lady was ever a sorrowful memory. A few details set apart mother and daughter, he realized during the evening, and Anairë seemed perhaps gentler than Aredhel, for if her fierceness could be great, it was used sparingly and only when needed - in this regard, lord Turakáno had been much like his mother.

"My Lady, it seems lord Findaráto and I could not bring you any good tidings..." He meant to apologize, however that was all he could say when at last he dared address her directly. Almost half an hour had passed since guests had risen to go sing and dance and they were the only ones left sitting at their table.

"I know all there is to know about the life and death of my husband and of my children, it is more than I could have hoped for, certainly," said lady Anairë, calmly.

"Is it not odd, my Lady, that I should be the one chosen by the Valar to be reembodied, whereas the Lord I served, your son, still tarries in the Halls of Mandos?"

"Why would it be odd, Laurefindil? Have you not yourself been a valiant lord, has not the House of the Golden Flower took great pride in having your as their leader?"

He said nothing for a while, puzzled. "I suppose I cannot bother you with my guilt, my Lady, for you probably know better than me how it feels..." he then whispered.

"Believe me or not, yet your presence among us eases my sorrows." And lady Anairë was smiling, in her grey eyes the light of the lanterns was reflected. "It is a lovely feast, is it not?"

It was, perhaps even a bit too lovely for Laurefindil who felt not quite ready for merrymakings. He handled daily life well enough, but celebrations were something else, and he felt overwhelmed by the lights and the music.

"I suppose it is too early for you to truly appreciate the gift the Valar have given you," said lady Anairë, and she rose from her seat. "Will you excuse me, Laurefindil? I cannot be only an observer today, I have to dance."

He bowed quickly his head, ready to get up, but the Lady shook her head. "Join us when you shall be ready, if you will."

And she headed towards the other guests who were circle dancing around the betrotheds. They looked all so merry and carefree, whereas Laurefindil had only come because Findaráto had asked him to be there and he wondered, as he watched his friend twirl with Amárië, if in few months from them he would be this Elf, this one who could laugh out loud and fear not his own happiness.

"Could that be you in a year, Laurefindil?"

It was as if Ingorion had read his mind. His cousin fell onto a seat, next to him, and his cheeks had gone slightly pink with the amusement of dancing and singing.

"Are you planning on introducing me to one your beautiful Vanyarin ladies perchance?" retorted Laurefindil.

"Should I?"

The two cousins stared at each other for a few seconds and then Ingorion exclaimed, "You are kidding me?"

"I am, or at least I try to," and Laurefindil chuckled softly - the celebration's cheerful mood was contagious.

"I had imagined you had wedded a Sindarin lady in Beleriand, it seems it brought me some comfort to think you had your own family there."

"To tell you the truth, life was pleasant in Gondolin, almost as pleasant as in Tirion, and perhaps I had no wife and no children, but I had my household and my people wore proudly my arms."

There was such nostalgia in his tone when Laurefindil spoke of Gondolin and such pride when he mentioned his house that Ingorion sometimes expected his cousin to leave for Beleriand anytime soon, since he obviously longed for a freedom the Undying Lands were not able to provide to him.

"I should have known better, you would not be one to settle down," said Ingorion and he was only half-joking.

Laurefindil had indeed never thought about getting married, partly because he had yet to fall in love and partly because his life had been devoted to other achievements that had been fully satisfying so far. But, for once, he was moved by the sight of Findaráto and Amárië and he noticed details he had never bothered with before - little gestures they had for each other, their smiles and above all, the sparkles in their eyes. How sweet all of this looked... how sweet.

"Neither are you, apparently. As it happens, I also had imagined you had a wife and a couple of children of your own by now," Laurefindil told Ingorion, smirking - he could still do that.

"Have I disappointed you, dear cousin?"

"Nay, I suppose you too cherish your independance."

"It is something we both seem to share, then," said Ingorion, laughing, and he mused, "The House of the Golden Flower could survive the fall of Gondolin, were the reembodiments to become more frequent."

"I cannot pretend I have unfolded all the mysteries concerning the reembodiment, yet lord Findaráto and I believe that we both were exceptions and that we should not hope for more of our dead ones to be brought back to life," explained Laurefindil, grabbing a his cup and sipping some the exquisite wine he had been served, earlier in the evening.

"I hear you well, however I cannot help but to wish Elenwë would have been brought too. She died a cruel death before we even reached Beleriand and her only mistake was that she was a loving wife and a loving mother."

"I fully agree with you, dear cousin, yet it is not my part to judge of her fate, neither is it yours."

And both let out a small sigh, as they watched the lanterns dangled in the breeze, thinking of Elenwë whom they both missed greatly.

* * *

"When we first celebrated their betrothal, before the Darkening, I used to worry Amárië would be too young to be wedded... whereas until recently I was afraid she would never be married. And today, I found myself dreaming of having grandchildren already," said lady Calimë, the mother of Amárië, between two songs.

Her long ash blonde hair were gathered into one long braid, her pale green eyes were sparkling with excitement and she was standing next to lady Eärwen who was chuckling joyfully, like she had not done since centuries.

"Oh we will have to be a bit more patient, lady Calimë. But still I am delighted we get to celebrate this betrothal together, I had myself doubted it would ever happened..."

"Would not twins be wonderful? Two little boys, or two little girls? Or one of each?"

"We have no twins in the family, though," said lady Eärwen and she sounded a bit disappointed.

"We do not either, but it could happen, perchance."

"Are you so eager to have grandchildren, lady Calimë? Your little Astarë is barely twelve and she is so adorable." And lady Eärwen waved at Amárië's little sister who was playing with Findis, running around guests and trees, swiftly.

"To tell you the truth, my husband is the one who most looks forwards having more children in our house," said lady Calimë as she nodded and smiled, looking at her youngest daughter.

"Is he?" Lady Eärwen peered at lord Tárano who was also taking a pause, as he was talking to her brother, Tolwë Olwion, at a table where servants had brought them fresh honey cakes.

* * *

"Thus you have never been to Tol Eressëa, lord Tárano?" inquired lord Tolwë and, though his brow had furrowed a little, he was only mildly surprised - he reckoned the Vanyar were rarely seen outside the surroundings of the Taniquetil and of Valimar.

"No I have not, I'm afraid... During the Years of Trees I could not quite convince myself to travel so far from their light and since the Darkening, I barely have left the slopes of the Taniquetil, for my own garden keeps me busy enough."

"Pardon me if I may sound discourteous, but I insist you should visit the island. The plants and trees growing there are very different from what you may have seen so far in Valinor and I do not doubt you shall find it utterly fascinating," declared lord Tolwë and his blue eyes gleamed as he smiled.

"It surely does seem I would enjoy traveling there," said lord Tárano, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

He and lord Tolwë were an odd pair, at first sight. Amárië's father was taller than the Telerin Elf and his eyes were of a remarkable blue, light and shiny, while lord Tolwë's gaze was of a darker shade, that of the ocean at its deepest. And Lady Eärwen's brother sported snowy white hair, like his father, and it was such a peculiar color that a lot of Vanyar had approached him to see it closer - and that was how he and lord Tárano had engaged conversation and they had quickly discovered they both shared a passion for botany.

"Then come and I would gladly be your guide," offered lord Tolwë.

"How could I refuse such a gracious offer, my Lord. And you, I gather, are rather unfamiliar with the flora of the Taniquetil?"

"I am not so unlike you, lord Taráno, for I feel restless whenever lose sight of the Sea, as you seem have been, far from the Trees," said lord Tolwë who was himself a skilled mariner.

"It is perfectly understandable."

"What of Alqualondë, lord Tárano? Have you gone there at all?"

"I did and I shall greatly like to visit it once again, for it has been long since I went to the Swanhaven and my dear Amárië always speak of your city with the utmost respect," said lord Tárano just as his daugther passed in front of them, twirling with Findaráto who was apparently teaching her some new steps.

"It might be that she keeps excellent memories of it, is it not where she first met Findaráto after all?" Lord Tolwë was also watching the betrotheds and his smiling widened, for he was quite fond of his nephew.

"Indeed," nodded lord Tárano. "Shall we then all go to Alqualondë and to Tol Eressëa after the betrothal and the New Year's festival?"

"I will gladly welcome you and your family as my guests."

And they sealed their agreement with a sip of hot wine and a generous portion of honey cake.

* * *

I thought Olwë's eldest son should have both a simple name and a name related to his father's name, since Eärwen is a pretty straightforward name and because these 'older' Elves tend to have short names. As it happens island is 'Tol' in Quenya, so calling him 'Tolwë' makes it sound like Olwë and also he could have been born on Tol Eressëa (or it could have been his fiefdom who knows), so he would be the 'one of/from the island'. As for Olwion, well since Ingwë's son only recorded name is Ingwion, it seemed logical that Olwë's son espessë would be 'Olwion'.

Although Elves have an incredible long life span, they don't all feel the need to travel apparently. After all, Legolas had never seen the sea before travelling to Gondor. I can figure the Vanyar as being especially 'stay-at-home' Elves because they are so deeply rooted to their lands, so Amárië's father would have not gone very far from the Taniquetil because his main focus is on his house, his garden and the forest around it.

I think I mentioned it previously, but in this fic, Laurefindil is a cousin of Elenwë (assuming he had a vanyarin mother who was the sister of Elenwë's father or mother) and well Ingorion would be their cousin as well (so that makes them the sons/daughter of three siblings).

And anyone who read the chapter would have guessed it, but there will be a part 2 :)


	15. The Feast - part 2

15, already! I had first planned this story to end at chapter 15, but I am not quite done yet :)

* * *

 **Chapter 15 - The Feast, part 2**

"When they were little, Findaráto and Turukáno were inseparable, they'd do absolutely everything together and at the end of the day, one would always fall asleep in the other's bed," was fondly reminiscing lady Anairë, who had sat with lady Indis and lady Calimë, Amárië's mother. "And they used to follow Findekáno around, spying on his every move... He was good with them, though, he taught them how to ride, how to climb trees, they were outside most of the time."

"I do recall they felt the need to climb every wall they came across at one point. You'd enter a room only to find one of them, if not both, hanging on the stones, legs and arms spread, like little lizards," said lady Indis laughing heartily.

"It must have been worrisome at times," said lady Calimë, smoothing her loose ash blonde hair. "Amárië was surprisingly quiet... she did ask a lot questions, otherwise she was not much trouble."

"Not even a little? Every child has their quirks," said lady Anairë who had to deal with a lot of these quirks back then.

Lord Calimë took some time to recollect her memories and, smiling, she declared, "She did love it when it rained and she had to jump into every puddle she saw, barefoot preferably. My husband and I used to call her Frog, because she was not satisfied as long as she did not end up completely wet and covered with mud."

"This must have been adorable."

"It was a bit messy, I'm afraid, though it did not last long and she eventually learned how to swim, leading her to favor rivers over puddles."

Lady Calimë and lady Anairë laughed gaily, while lady Indis was still lost in past happy days, "All my grandchildren happened to be very... active, if not a little turbulent at times. Írissë and Artanis no less than their brothers."

"Oh, the girls were bolder than their brothers, they followed no one. I recall they had a treehouse built in the gardens and insisted to dwell there for months. To enter it, we had to tell a secret password, yet they never told anyone what it was..."

"And the day they were tall enough to ride, we lost them!"

"Should then Amárië expect her children to be this... active?" It did not worry lady Calimë, on the contrary the idea of having her daughter running after an energetic tiny toddler amused her greatly.

"She might be lucky, for Findaráto and Turukáno behaved better than their siblings, and Arafinwë was perhaps the only who seems to have been born already wise and reasonable," said lady Indis, patting lady Calimë's shoulder. "I remember he was very fond of Findis and in his early years he refused to sleep as long as she had not come to tuck him to bed herself."

Lady Anairë giggled, "He still looks after her, I have noticed he wears that same shade of blue ever since Findis told him it suited him well."

"I heard they call it the King's blue in the streets of Tirion," said lady Indis, grinning.

"Is that so?" Lady Calimë scanned the crowd, looking for lord Arafinwë, and she spotted him, dancing with his wife, a wide smile illuminating his noble face - indeed, he was clad in blue, a pale greyish blue to be precise.

* * *

Lady Eärwen always wore her silvery hair braided in two long plaits, in the fashion of her people, and it was also her daughter's favorite hairdo, at least when Artanis had dwelled in Valinor. Along with her unusual hair color, the blue of her eyes was quite striking too, turquoise like the water of sandy beaches, and it sparkled softly as she danced with her husband.

"I see your smile has significantly broadened and I thus presume your mother must have been quite convincing," she said and her fingers lingered on his hairline, brushing his forehead.

"She repeated almost exactly what you had told me before, and so did Findis, oddly enough. I might even start thinking you three plotted against me, but you wouldn't do such a vile thing, would you?" lord Arafinwë teased her. "Yet it finally sank in apparently, or perhaps our son's happiness outshines everything else..."

Findaráto and Amárië had taken a little break from dancing and, standing near a willow tree, they kept whispering into one another's ear - whatever was being said, it made them both laugh quite loudly. This carefree behavior his son was displaying was something lord Arafinwë had not dared wish for and it stood in stark contrast to what Findaráto had been, right in the aftermath of his reembodiment.

"It is perfectly normal you might have entertained some doubts, from time to time," declared lady Eärwen. "Two Elves came back from Beleriand, from the Halls of Mandos, and it stirred old wounds, yours, mine, and those of many others... And it should not worry you that you experience some... discouragement."

"These particular circumstances threw me off, it seems," he admitted. "It did bring back a lot of memories... and to think that... to think..." _that Melkor was close to conquering all of Beleriand_. But he would not pronounce this wretched name, not when his son was there, he who was the living proof of the Valar's generosity and of the healing powers of the Blessed Lands.

"Have faith, my beloved, the Valar would have not forgotten the exiles, neither the innocent Sindar, nor the Men, who have ever lived in a world where shadows lurk in the North..."

Lord Arafinwë nodded and he hugged his wife closer to him, his chin resting on her head. "What would I do without you, Swan-maiden," he muttered.

* * *

"You have an admirer, Ingorion," said Laurefindil an amused smile on his lips.

Ingorion peered around expecting to find one of the ladies - perhaps one of these graceful Telerin ladies from Alqualondë - to wave at him, but everyone seemed busy, singing, twirling, talking.

"Lower," Laurefindil told his cousin.

"Lower...?" muttered Ingorion, puzzled. And he spotted her, tiny Astarë, who was clinging onto lady Findis's dresses and she was staring at him, timid. He knew very well this look, it was how she acted whenever she wanted something from her parents or from Amárië - and from him, at times. Ingorion saw Lady Findis bending down and after Astarë had whispered a few confidential words in her ear, they both turned toward him, beaming.

"Lord Ingorion, this young lady here would very much like to dance with you, if you will," said lady Findis as she approached the table, her hands on Astarë's shoulders. "She says you are quite talented and that she would not want another partner."

The child stepped forward, extending her hands to reach Ingorion's, yet she was more shy than usual and it was Laurefindil whom she find intimidating. She knew he had come back from the Halls of Mandos and somehow it impressed her much, much more than Findaráto's reembodiment - perhaps because she had never heard of Laurefindil before, nor of hidden Gondolin.

"How could I refuse such a nice offer, Astarë? And I'd wager one dance won't be enough to satisfy you and that you shall want to play hide-and-seek, just like you did with lady Findis, am I not right?"

"Lady Findis was an excellent playmate," said the child, polite, and she seemed to remember she was addressing a princess, so she curtsied, causing everyone to laugh.

"Rise, Astarë, and go enjoy yourself," said lady Findis, giggling, and she could not resist putting a kiss on the child's soft hair. Then, she inquired, "May I sit here awhile, lord Laurefindil?"

Her cheeks were pink and her clothes were slightly ruffled from running around and dancing with Astarë, but she could not be more pleased. She had missed these family gatherings and although she had attended a few weddings since the Darkening, this betrothal feast was merrier than any other celebrations she could recall - at least those that were held under the Sun and the Moon.

"Of course, my Lady, of course," answered Laurefindil and he gestured at a bottle of wine he and Ingorion had been savoring. "Would you like a cup, perchance?"

"Yes, thank you." She settled on a seat, sipping the delicately perfumed wine, and her eyes were still on Astarë. The child was moving a lot, however what she did surely could not qualify as 'dancing' - in fact Ingorion was doing most of the work while Astarë was applauding and laughing, as she jumped up and down excitedly.

Laurefindil watched them too, for a brief moment, but he then resumed his attention on lady Findis, whom he had barely been acquainted with. At first glance she looked a lot like her mother, she had that same oval face, those same delicate features, yet some details she had definitely inherited from her father. For one thing, her grey eyes, shining like stars, were exactly similar to Finwë's and back then it had always greatly irritated Fëanáro whose gaze also happened to be alike his father's. And her hair was a compromise between Vanyarin blonde and Noldorin raven black, for it was golden brown and it was a peculiar color, lighter under the Sun, darker under the Moon.

He was not sure whether he ought speak first or not and as he wondered what topic could lead to an entertaining conversation, lady Findis said, "I am happy to be in Tirion, I might stay here longer than I intended to."

"Me too," agreed Laurefindil, absentmindedly, but he soon realized his words might be misunderstood. "I mean... I have yearned to see this city once again and even though it is hard to sort my feelings out these days... I do know I want to stay here."

"It is no more the city you have once known I'm afraid,' told him lady Findis, in a slightly melancholic tone. "Its walls and towers still stand, yet its heart suffered and beats faintly nowadays."

"Perhaps it is not as lively as it used to be, but it stands, as you said, and all who shall come back shall find their home intact, as if they had never left it."

"Am I to understand your parents took good care of the belongings you did not bring with you to Beleriand?"

A smile reappeared on Laurefindil's otherwise stern face and lady Findis felt relieved she was able to achieve this, at least.

"Everything has remained suprisingly neat, indeed," he said. "One would have believed I was away for a day or two, no more."

"My father's tower has not changed much either, although its inhabitants are fewer than ever... It could have become gloomy, but its soul is intact and I swear I still hear the footsteps of my nephews and nieces whenever I happen to dwell there."

Lady Findis did not seem sad, but rather she was pensive. More than her younger siblings, she felt torn between her Vanyarin and Noldorin heritage and, truth was, she always had felt this way, even though it had become more evident after her father's death. She was no male and she was yet unmarried, thus her status was still defined by who her father and her brothers were - or had been. However, since the Darkening, she had spent long years on the Taniquetil with her mother's kin, and the Halls of King Ingwë had become as familiar to her as the tower of Finwë where she had grown up. Lady Findis would have been to ashamed to admit it, but while most of her Noldorin kin was in exile, she felt more like the daughter of Indis than of Finwë - and was Tirion her home anymore?

"Would you care to dance, my Lady?" Laurefindil deemed his request to be a bit bold, but he had noticed lady Findis's expression had become awfully serious and he thought such an elegant lady ought be smiling on a day like this one.

"I would have not dared ask you myself, lord Laurefindil," she replied, suddenly recovering all her previous merriness, "but of course I would gladly dance with you."

Ever since his reembodiment, Laurefindil had not danced, yet all the steps he remembered effortlessly, for some things truly had indeed remained unchanged, like his parents's house.

* * *

"Where does this brooch come from?" Amárië asked Findaráto. She had left him a few minutes only, in order to go convince her sister to give Ingorion a rest - and she had succeeded, for now Astarë was perched on Laurefindil's shoulders, ordering him around, as all her initial shyness towards him had soon vanished -, and she wondered where Findaráto could have gotten a new ornament in the meantime.

"It was given to me barely a moment ago, by one of your Vanyarin fellow," explained Findaráto, "although who he was and where he came from, I cannot tell."

Amárië took a closer look at the jewel, her fingers following its finely chiseled lines. It consisted of three flowers whose round petals were made of gold, while the thin sepals had been crafted with copper and the pistils were tiny rubies. No doubt, it was a nice piece of work, but there was more to it than good materials and forging skills.

"Ingoldo, have you ever seen flowers like these?" Amárië inquired.

"No, I have not... should I know anything about it?" said Findaráto, a little puzzled.

"These flowers grow in the Gardens of Lórien, near ponds and fountains, and their petals are pale blue, like morning sky," she explained, staring at the brooch. "It is also said... it is said they grow at the feet of anyone weeping long enough, hence their name, Nienainalë."

"Then it is a very precious token."

"A token...?" repeated Amárië, thoughtfully. "It is a gift indeed... it is a betrothal gift, from the maids of Estë, and delivered by a friend of theirs."

"A friend who was not a Vanya, was he?" said Findaráto, gazing around once more. He had exchanged a few words with this blonde fellow and it had all been common courtesies, nothing that would have made him suspect his interlocutor was more than meet the eye. The brooch had been pinned on his jacket before he could ask any further questions and the 'Vanya' had vanished in a blink, leaving Findaráto intrigued, yet filled with an unexpected feeling of fulfilment.

"No he was not," told him Amárië who stood on tiptoe to put a light kiss on his lips. "It seems you were tricked, my dear Ingoldo."

Findaráto chuckled, but he was slightly preoccupied. "Would he ever come back? I shall like to thank him. And the maids of Estë too."

"Perhaps we could go visit them one day," suggested Amárië and she considered the flower brooch for a moment, a smile lingering on her lips. "It suits you well, Ingoldo, you look marvelous."

He had locked his arms around her, rubbing her back gently. "Why would they give me a gift, though? Ought it no be yours?"

"They know I need no gift, for... for I already have what my heart desires most," muttered Amárië, her cheeks reddening.

"What high value does it give to my poor self then!" Findaráto exclaimed, laughing gaily. "Oh, beloved Amárië, may the Sun and the Moon fly faster in the celestial vault and may our wedding day come sooner, for my heart won't endure to be put through any more ordeals and it shall rest only when you it will be yours, forever yours!" And he held her tighter against him, sweeping her off her feet.

"I missed your poetry, Ingoldo," said Amárië, giggling, and they kissed, ever oblivious of the crowd around them.

* * *

Amárië and Findaráto's betrothal feast had taken place right before the New Year's festival and so the feast was seemingly extended, for their party moved together to Valimar where three more days of bliss awaited them and even Laurefindil forgot his own waverings, he who had not set his eyes on the City of Bells for centuries. To all of them these celebrations were special and they believed that this year, the 542nd year of the First Age, would be a blessed year since the reembodiments of Findaráto and Laurefindil could only be the signs of better times to come.

When the festival ended, most of them tarried in Valimar and Amárië and Findaráto were the very last to head back to Tirion, because they both wanted to enjoy some time alone, just the two of them. They shared many sweet memories of the City of the Valar and while they found it pleasant to reminisce about the past, they also looked forward the future - they dared talk openly about their wedding and what would come after it. And when they rode back to Tirion, Amárië and Findaráto's faces still wore this dreamy expression so typical of lovers. Yet in Finwë's tower their welcome was not exactly warm, for only lady Eärwen had come out and she seemed too restless to let herself be distracted with their wide, almost idiotic, enamoured smiles.

"Here you are, at last! Oh, Ingoldo, hurry and follow me inside, for your cousin Calairion has come seek you all the way from Alqualondë and he said he has to talk to you forthwith," announced lady Eärwen upon their arrival. "He was here three days ago and has since been waiting for you... I must tell you, he seems oddly... frantic."

The look she threw his son was a long meaningful one and Findaráto shuddered, sensing something extraordinary had happened, once more.

"Do you reckon someone else came back from the Halls of Mandos?" he asked his mother, in a low voice, climbing the stairs hurriedly - Amárië, flustered, trotted behind him. They had both already put aside their own joys, although their hands were still linked tightly.

"He told me nothing, yet I am inclined to believe so, Ingoldo," said lady Eärwen as she lead them through the halls, to a small, discreet parlour.

"Calairion also bade lord Laurefindil to join you, thus it seems obvious his presence in Tirion has something to do with another reembodiment..."

"It would not be one of the Noldor this time..."

"Most likely not," confirmed lady Eärwen and she was perhaps even more agitated than Findaráto - with what bliss would the Teleri welcome back one of them, one of these innocents who had been cruelly slain during the Kinslaying.

"Is he in there?" Findaráto pointed at the door in front of which his mother had stopped abruptly.

"Yes and I am afraid Amárië will have to stay with me," said lady Eärwen, her hand resting on the doorknob. "Calairion will only speak in front of you, my son, and of lord Laurefindil."

"Alright," whispered Findaráto and he put a quick kiss on Amárië's hand as she stepped aside.

Upon entering the room, he saw Laurefindil who had been summoned first, like lady Eärwen had mentioned. He shot Findaráto an inquisitive look, hoping to unveil the reason why this Telerin Prince seemed so eager to have them both together, although Laurefindil too presumed there was some sort of reembodiment story behind this dramatic staging.

"Ingoldo... lord Laurefindil..." greeted them Calairion and he was feverish indeed. "I understand my request is impromptu and awkward at best, yet the circumstances that drove me in Tirion to meet you do not allow me to linger on useless civilities... However the message I wish to convey is a simple one, I bid you both to depart with me for Alqualondë, as soon as possible."

"Why would I comme along...?" stuttered Laurefindil, taken aback. "Few months have passed since I myself was allowed to leave the Halls of Mandos and I am not akin to the Teleri..."

He did want to help, but his fear of the Haven overcame his generosity. Like Findaráto, Laurefindil's last memories of Alqualondë were nightmarish - dead bodies floating in the harbor, the clear water of the lagoon that had reddened, and the ships that had sailed away, never to return. Worst, his own hands had been stained... Would even the Teleri be willing to welcome him among them?

"You have to come, lord Laurefindil!" Calairion pressed him. "I beg you to listen to me and you shall be the first jumping from your seat to go saddle a horse in the stables!"

Findaráto had understood what was troubling his friend and he put his hand on his, pressing it. He also felt uneasy at the idea of seeing the Swan-Haven again, but he could not refused such an invitation.

"A ship came ashore, in Tol Eresseä..." started to tell them Calairion, once Laurefindil, resolved, had fallen back on his seat. "A ship none of my folk has ever seen before, for it is a ship that has sailed from Beleriand."

"It is impossible..." mumbled Findaráto, rubbing his face, in awe. "It is impossible, the Ban has not been lifted... they could not possibly reach Aman... not while it was against the will of the Valar..."

"Yet they did, Ingoldo, and I swear it, for I have seen them with my own eyes," said Calairion staring intently at his cousin.

"Who? Who are they?" asked Laurefindil.

"From what I gathered, lord Laurefindil, you know one of them quite well, he—"

"Are they Gondolidrim?"

"Yes... Well... Eärendil and Elwing, that is who they are. They said... They said... Well Eärendil was born in Gondolin, was he not?"

"Eärendil?" breathed Laurefindil as tears filled his eyes, rolling on his cheeks. "Young Eärendil has reached Aman..."

He ran his fingers through his hair, over and over, bending his head down, and he was lost in marvels - he did not hear what followed.

"Eärendil and his wife Elwing have both found the way to the Undying Lands," said Calairion, speaking softly. "And, Ingoldo, you might be under the impression you know none of them, and it is true you have never met them... yet Elwing's forefathers you have greatly helped in time of need, for she is the granddaughter of Lúthien and Beren and she has carried a Silmaril with her."

"Their granddaughter...?" No other words could he pronounce. Findaráto found himself overwhelmed with emotions and soon tears started streaming down his face, blurring his vision.

In that very moment, everything fell into place, at last.

* * *

I do not know if it was intended, but both Finrod and Glorfindel happen to have close ties with Eärendil and Elwing. I can't believe their reunion wasn't a teary one. Also, by then, Idril and Tuor ought have reached Aman because they left before Eärendil and Elwing, but... it would not have been coherent to introduce them.

It is said Fingolfin and Findon [and their host] fought during the kinslaying (well only because they thought the Teleri had attacked first) so I assumed Glorfindel could have fought too, considering Turgon would have stood alongside his father and brother.

It's not that I imagined Finwë's grandchildren to be hyperactive monsters, but it's legit to presume they were quite 'active' when they were young. I can imagine Fingon climbing everything he could and trying daring jumps just because, and Turgon and Finrod being impressed by his skills would just try to copy him, and then Angrod and Aegnor would do the same things too (and would be more daring than Turgon and Finrod, clearly). As for the girls, I'm sure they simply were the wildest :D


	16. Alqualondë

If I manage to keep up with this pace, I should be able to wrap this story at the end of the month or in early September!

Also, thank you to those who followed/liked the story recently, it's really appreciated!

* * *

 **Chapter 16 - Alqualondë**

Laurefindil felt utterly nervous. He kept no memories of the ride from Tirion to Alqualondë, it was all blurry already, and he found it hard to focus on his surroundings - the pillars covered with seashells, the white towers, the sea, he saw nothing of it. Only one thing filled his mind, only one person he cared about and he still thought it was just dream, that it was impossible Eärendil had reached Aman...

The son of Itarillë had been a young child when Gondolin had been sacked and Laurefindil could not imagine him having grown up, although he probably had become tall and mighty, like his father had been, like lord Turukáno had been. Would he remember him, would he remember Laurefindil of the House of the Golden Flower, after all these years, after all the woes he had been through?

* * *

Findaráto had made his cousin Calairion repeat Elwing's story a dozen times at least, as if he could not believe what he was hearing. How amazing was it that the line of Elwë had lived on, despite the Battle of the Thousand Caves, despite the Second and Third Kinslayings! He grieved his kinsman, of course, and Dior whom he had never met, and the twins too, who had been cruelly left to die in the woods, yet Elwing had escaped alive and she had come to Valinor, carrying along the Silmaril her grandparents had wrested from Morgoth's crown. Findaráto had given his life for this to happen and he felt deeply relieved his death had somehow contributed to all of this, even if only a little.

And it had hit him, who but these two Half-Elvens could properly plead the cause of the Children of Ilúvatar to the Valar?

* * *

"Eärendil knew you when you dwelled in Gondolin, he ought recognize you... but his wife, Elwing, I died before she was born, before her father was even born," an anxious Findaráto was telling Laurefindil.

They were alone, in a parlor, waiting to be summoned wherever they were to meet with Eärendil and Elwing. Both of them paced around, rambling and speculating, going over the few informations the Teleri had shared with them. Actually, the people of Olwë too were rather clueless as what was happening and so Findaráto and Laurefindil had not learned much more than what Calairion had told them already: how the Vingilótë had landed in Tol Eresseä, how Eärendil alone had traveled to Tirion - then, an empty city, for the Noldor had gone to Valimar to celebrate the New Year - and howEönwë had greeted him, bringing him before the Powers of the Valar.

And while the Valar were debating whether to heed or not Eärendil's appeal, the Mariner and his wife dwelled in Alqualondë where they had been warmly welcomed by the Teleri, as Elwing was one of theirs. And so Findaráto and Laurefindil were left to ponder until complete exhaustation.

"Ingoldo, I am sure you have long infered that, had you not saved Beren's life, she would have never been born at all," said Laurefindil, flatly. "It should be enough of a reason for her to rejoice at the perspective of meeting you."

Findaráto raised an eyebrow, startled. "I reckon you are surprisingly cool-headed, Glorfindel."

"Absolutely not," confessed Laurefindil, rubbing his chin. "I never once have felt this jittery and it seems I cannot trust my tongue and my hands anymore, for I might just start stuttering and trembling."

"Why should we feel like this when facing good tidings?" sighed Findaráto, letting himself fall on an armchair, tired of walking back and forth the small room.

"It is not just the betrothal of some distant cousins we have been announced and some happy events can be as shocking as grieving ones," said Laurefindil, gazing at the large window that overlooked the city. But the beauty of Alqualondë did not move him, he did not really see the white houses, with their sparkling blue roofs, neither the streets and pillars covered with shiny seashells - even the shadows of the kinslaying had vanished.

"You are right," agreed Findaráto, glancing at his friend. "It is a tale we are living in, a tale in which we each played a part."

That was when the parlor's door finally opened and Calairion entered the room, asking, "Ingoldo, lord Laurefindil, shall we go?"

They both straightened at once, one rising from his seat, the other turning his back to the window. On their way to the halls where Eärendil and Elwing were, Findaráto caught Laurefindil smoothing his clothes, in a useless attempt to look more proper, and it made him smile, despite his own apprehension. He reckoned they both had been less nervous when facing the Wolf and the Balrog.

* * *

"Lord Glorfindel!" cried Eärendil, and the name he had shout in Sindarin, for his father had always called Laurefindil like this. "Lord Glorfindel, I barely could believe it when I was told you had come back from the Halls of Mandos! How happy, how..."

There was much more he would have said, but Laurefindil had hugged him, so short and so tightly that it took his breath away.

"Eärendil!" exclaimed Laurefindil, through sobs. "Eärendil, you... Oh, you are alive, you are here, safe and sound..."

It was odd that Laurefindil should cry on Eärendil's shoulder, as the Half-Elven had so far been under the impression that the lord of the House of the Golden Flower was well-nigh being a giant, perhaps because his last memory of him was that of the single combat against the Balrog. But Eärendil was an adult already, a wedded man and a father even, and he stood tall himself, taller than Laurefindil by an inch or two.

"I am alright, lord Glorfindel, I am quite fine," said Eärendil, trembling and moved.

"Of course, you are, of course..." Laurefindil did his best to hold back his tears, not to ruin this beautiful moment, and, stepping back to have a better look at Eärendil, he cupped his face. A surge of pride filled his heart as he gazed upon the child - yes, he would always be _the child_ to him - and he breathed, "You have become so handsome, young one, look at you!"

"And you, lord Glorfindel, I find you as lofty and noble as you were when... when we all dwelled in Gondolin."

They stared at each other silently and a few tears still gleamed on his handsome face, as Laurefindil pressed Eärendil's hands in his.

"To be honest, as of yesterday, I was still unsure if my reembodiment was a blessing or a curse," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "Yet now that I see you, Eärendil... I do not doubt anymore I was not fated to linger ever in the Halls of Mandos..."

And they fell into one another's arms again and this time Eärendil could not suppress a sob - he would have done anything to travel back in time and be back in Gondolin, he realized suddenly.

"You sailed alone, did you not?" asked Laurefindil, at length.

"Yes... my wife did join me on the way, yet it was unexpected..."

"What of the others...?"

"Lord Egalmoth and lord Galdor stayed behind in the havens of the mouth of Sirion, with most of our people," said Eärendil and, pronouncing these names, he felt terribly nostalgic.

"Is that so..." muttered Laurefindil, frightened - how many of those who had stayed behind had been murdered by the Sons of Fëanáro, in the havens?

* * *

Findaráto was so stunned, he dared not make the first move. His eyes wide opened, he was staring at Elwing, as if she had been his long lost daughter. Or at least it was how it seemed to him and it was true they were kin, distant kin, but she was still a cousin of his, one he had not even hope would exist. She was much alike Lúthien, with her long black hair and her shiny grey eyes, yet her frame was smaller and Findaráto felt appalled, thinking of how young she was and of how many horrifying events she had gone through already.

He finally moved, stepping slowly forward her, and he murmured, "Elwing, it is an honor to meet you, truly... I... I knew your grandparents well, they were dear friends to me." He still meant to justify his presence in front of her and so, before she could say anything, he added, "Lúthien also happened to be my mother's cousin..."

"Lord Finrod Felagund... I am also immensely glad our pathes cross, at last," said Elwing and she was shy too, for Finrod had been more of a mythical figure than a real person in her mind - she had heard many songs being sung about him, yet she had not once imagined she would actually see him one day. Elwing was as embarrassed as he was and she did not know where to start, since there was so much she wanted to tell him. And the first thing that came out of her mouth was this, "Lord Finrod... I brought a few of your belongings with me..."

Elwing had had no time to pack, of course, for she had fled fast, without thinking, and truth was, she had believed she would drown in the Sea - dying was fine, as long as the Sons of Fëanor never got their hands on her Silmaril. Despite her desesperate haste, two things she still possessed that had been Finrod Felagund's once.

"What...?" whispered Findaráto, but then he closed his mouth, speechless.

He had seen it, on her right hand. The ring of Barahir, with its flower crown and its two serpents. And, out of the velvet pouch, she pulled the Nauglamír, the necklace the Dwarves had crafted for him with the gems from Valinor, those he had brought in exile, and by far the finest piece of jewelry he had ever owned. But he was far from any superficial considerations, for only then, in this very moment, did it strike him also that Beren and Lúthien were gone for good, wherever the fate of Men had lead them, and he missed them cruelly.

"These are yours my lord, are they not?" Elwing asked him, timid.

"No, Elwing," he answered softly. "The ring is rightfully yours, for I do not take back what I freely gave. As for the necklace... has it not become one of your family's heirlooms as well?"

"But it was taken from your halls, after the Dragon had been slain..."

"Listen, Elwing, I do know that King Elwë died because of this jewel and that Lúthien and Dior both wore it, with the Silmaril set on it, thus I consider they passed it on to you and that you should treasure it as much as the ring, for it has become part of your history."

"But lord Finrod—" Elwing tried to protest.

"I will hear no more on this matter," he cut in, smiling.

"As you wish," she nodded, smiling back.

Findaráto had put his hands on her shoulders, although he feared he might be acting too familiar, and he took a deep breath, saying solemnly, "I'm afraid I might not find the right words to express how happy I am to meet you, Elwing. Yet do believe me when I say I have hoped you and your brothers had survived the kinslaying... Ever since I have known the Quest for the Silmaril had been a success, I often prayed for the descendants of Lúthien and Beren to be alive and well... However how could I hope to see one of you with my own eyes..."

Tears blurred his vision awhile, heavy ones that rolled down his cheeks and at the sight of it, Elwing found herself weeping as well.

"I never knew my grandparents, lord Finrod, and my parents died when I was barely three..." she told him. "But the Sindar and the Noldor alike sang your deeds and perhaps I find myself as moved to see you as you are to see me."

"May... May I?" He had extended his arms to hug her and he did so, delicately, as Elwing shed a few more tears.

Beside them, Laurefindil and Eärendil, still in a tight embrace, were alternating between crying and laughing.

* * *

All tears had long dried when the others came in. Lord Arafinwë, lady Eärwen, lady Anairë and Amárië were also Olwë's guests, as well as Laurefindil's parents and his cousin Ingorion, and when they finally saw the Half-Elvens, it was a merry reunion indeed. In a short time, a lot was said and done, in a whirl of silky clothes and shiny hair, and it was like a complicated dance they were improvising.

Lady Anairë barely had stepped into the halls that she was already kissing Eärendil's cheeks, marveling at him loudly and enthusiastically and swearing she had never seen a boy so handsome. Perhaps her joy surprised Eärendil at first, as he had not expected such an outburst from a lady of her rank, but he was proud she would not let got his arm and they were together when he was introduced to Laurefindil's parents. On the other side, Elwing was admiring lady Eärwen whose silvery hair fascinated her, for they were exactly like her father's, and both of them were at loss for words, overwhelmed with wonder and happiness.

Amárië, lord Arafinwë and Ingorion had chosen to stand back, feeling they could wait a little longer before being acquainted with the newcomers, and for them who had not gone to Beleriand, the Half-Elvens' appearance held some surprises. Eärendil, especially, was very much alike his father Tuor, a sturdy fellow with golden hair and a fair face, and he had a short beard - a very intriguing feature for these Elves of Valinor. Elwing was perhaps more Elvish looking than her husband, but it was nonetheless visible the people of Bëor were her ancestors, for there was something of the fragility of mortals that still lingered in her grey eyes.

Amárië, who could be very pragmatic at times, pondered over what the Valar would rule about them. Would they be considered Elves and thus be allowed to dwell in Aman? Or would it be considered a sacrilege that they stepped on the Blessed Lands, since Men's blood also ran in their veins?

"I tend to believe they are a beautiful exception to these laws," said lord Arafinwë after she had shared her thinking with him and Ingorion.

"Could the Elves and the Men have been meant to mingle more than what we suspected?" Amárië wondered and she had in mind Aikanáro and Andreth, for she recalled Findaráto telling her he had discouraged his brother to pursue such a union.

"I do not think so, no," replied lord Arafinwë. "Although I suppose we cannot be utterly surprised love has bloomed between some of them and some of us."

"To think that, had not Itarillë gone into exile, she would have never wedded since Tuor is the one she fell in love with... Or would have she? It there an Elf in Valinor who shall remain wifeless because Itarillë is married to a Man?"

"Dearest Amárië, I shall never tire of hearing your witty inquiries," interrupted Findaráto, as he brought Elwing before them. "Yet I'm afraid you will have to wait a little bit more to get your answers, if we ever find satisfying answers to such questions."

He was beaming at her, having recovered his usual confidence and amiability, and now that some of his Telerin kin had joined in, he deemed it was time to impart to everything Elwing's wish - or rather, Elwing's gift.

"Come closer, Amárië," he said, beckoning her. He also nodded at his father and then, clearing his voice, he announced, loud enough that all those present in the hall heard him, "There is something Elwing would like to show us and I daresay it is a great favor she is doing all of us."

The daughter of Dior and Nimloth did not speak Quenya, yet most of those present in the hall could understand her speech, providing they made a little effort. Amárië had gotten better at Sindarin, although she was reluctant to speak it, as she deemed her pronounciation to be awful. Lady Eärwen had never heard more than a few words, but she could understand most of what was being said - it was close enough to Telerin - and lord Arafinwë had long been fluent in his wife's folk language, he too could follow the conversation. Perhaps the parents of Laurefindil and his cousin, Ingorion, were the only ones not prepared to hear Sindarin, but they did not wonder long for they knew Elwing had carried a Silmaril all the way to Aman and like all the others, they stared at her in expectancy.

It was safe, resting in a plain wooden box that Elwing opened carefully as Eärendil put his arm around her shoulders - it was an old reflex, whenever she displayed it, he became wary.

They were all silent, holding their breath - Findaráto felt Amárië slip her hand in his and he pressed it gently.

And there it was, shinier than any of the stars in the sky. The power of its light, though, was not what impressed them. Recalling the bloody events that its creation had lead to did not either. It was something else that triggered their reactions.

For Elves born in Valinor before the Darkening, a Silmaril was far more than a jewel, it was the last remnant of Telperion and Laurelin, these trees they had loved so dearly - more than anything else, for some of them. In Fëanáro's masterpiece, they saw the past, the blissful days of innocence and a world without evil, without pain and fears. And facing what was forever lost made every single one of them weep.

The Vanyar cried most, for their love of the Trees had been the greatest and they had dwelled closest to them. But the Noldor also cried for those who had gone in exile and the Teleri, for those who had died during the Kinslaying.

Laurefindil and Findaráto cried, thinking of the many souls inhabitating the Halls of Mandos. Eärendil and Elwing cried, missing their sons, whose fate was still unknown.

"Thank you, lady Elwing, I think you may put it back in its box."

It was lord Arafinwë who had spoken and his calm, steady voice woke everyone up from their daze and as soon as the Silmaril's light had disappeared in its box, all tears had dried up, once again.

* * *

By the evening, Findaráto was exhausted, his body felt heavy and his mind was restless. He did not know anymore what to do or what to say, for too much had happened in so little time, but a single glance at Amárië was enough for her to understand what needed be done. There was a crowd between them, for the Teleri had gathered in the halls of Olwë to listen to the stories of Eärendil and Elwing, as they did ever since their arrival, and they were even more numerous on that day, drawn by the curiosity of seeing Findaráto and Laurefindil.

Hopefuly, Amárië broke through the circle that had formed around him and she grabbed his hand to lead him out. Out of the busy halls, out of the high tower, out of the stony courtyards, and down to the harbor where ships were moored, and even farther where the Sea twinkled under the moon light. At last, they sat at the end of a long dock, yet this time they ate no oysters, for none of them was hungry.

Findaráto held Amárië from behind, his arms around her waist, and his head leaned on her shoulder. Her smell, a sweet smell of spring flowers, calmed him down and so did gazing the Belegaer and its seemingly endless horizon.

"Are there such things as miracles, Amárië?" he asked, in a whisper.

"Mayhaps, Ingoldo" she replied, putting a kiss on his forehead. "Yet the arrival of Eärendil and Elwing in Aman is not a miracle."

"Why would it not be one?"

"Think of it as chain, Ingoldo," said Amárië who, as she had not gone to Beleriand, could reasoned more objectively on the whole situation. "So many events, little or great, lead to this... You heard the tale of how Tuor was able to find Gondolin, of how Ulmo revealed himself to him, for he was to carry a message to Turukáno in his hidden city where he was to meet Itarillë. And Beren, he was able to pass through the girdle of Melian, he and Lúthien retieved one of the Silmarils from Melkor's crown in order to be allowed to wed, and they both died and went back to life before settling in Ossiriand... Thus should it not be only logical that the children born of these two exceptional unions were to find the path to the Undying Lands?"

"Of course, if you put it like this, it only seems logical," admitted Findaráto and he had put an emphasis on this word, _logical_. "Yet I, I took part in these events, however humble my contribution was, and I never could have foreseen this."

"And no one could have, dear Ingoldo," Amárië told him. "I daresay the Valar themselves have to take counsel, for it has been almost seven days since Eärendil and Elwing came and they have yet to heed their appeal..."

"They shall take pity on the people of Beleriand, shan't they?"

"Trust them, Ingoldo," she said and again she kissed his forehead.

Amárië had rolled up her dresses above her knees and her feet dangled in water - sometimes a stronger wave would reach the dock itself and she could not help but let out a little giggle everytime it happened. A soft breeze came from the sea, blowing in her hair, and a few strands tickled pleasantly Findaráto's face.

"Amárië, if the coming of the Vingilótë is not a miracle, then what is?"

"You and I meeting was one great miracle," she said, glancing at the glimmering city, behind them and then, turning to him, she added "Or perhaps you falling in love with me..."

"Oh, but would it not be merely logical that I fell in love with you? Are there not very rational reasons that would explain it?" he said, chuckling. "But, for my part, I believe that you enduring all of my terribly tedious speech was the true miracle."

Amárië laughed. "Some maidens are charmed by gallant poems and love songs, whereas others would rather hear about architecture, shipcrafting and the extremely peculiar shape of scallops found on the southern shores of Tol Eresseä."

"Later on, I did declaim poems, dear one," he pointed out, grinning.

Findaráto felt well and appeased, and he wanted to let her know it was because of her presence by his side - what could convey his feelings better than a kiss? He brushed away the curls from her face and his fingers lingered, tracing those pretty features of her, as he relished this power he had to make her shiver with a simple touch. When at last his lips reached hers, Amárië slid her arms around his neck, winding her hands in his hair, and it soon was Findaráto's turn to be at her mercy, to beg for another kiss, another caress.

* * *

Actually it seems more likely the Nauglamír was lost in the sea, or at least nothing is said about it after Elwing throws herself in the sea with it (I suppose that the Silmaril was not attached to it anymore...)

Again, it feels like everyone is beautiful, but Eärendil's beauty was outstanding, and I suppose he had that special Half-Elven charm.

Ah and I've always pictured Alqualondë looked like one of these Greek towns in the Cyclades, like in Mykonos (so a lot of white and blue, and stairs everywhere instead of actual streets).


	17. The Gardens

I think the next chapter will be the last, since Finrod has faced pretty much all of his issues. Well, he'll be left pondering about what happened during the 1st Age for a long while and he won't get to see his sister before a couple more thousands of years, but he should be happy in any case.

* * *

 **Chapter 17 - The Gardens  
**

It soon became known that the Valar chose to heed Eärendil's appeal and great turmoil came down the Taniquetil as the announcement made its way among the Eldar throughout Aman. At once it was decided that Ingwion, the eldest son of king Ingwë, would lead a great host of Vanyar to Beleriand and the Noldor who had remained in Valinor were also to take part in the war under the command of their king, lord Arafinwë. The Teleri agreed to ferry the armies in their swan-ships, for the love of Elwing, who had long pleaded with them, yet they refused to fight, as the memory of the kinslaying was still fresh in their hearts.

Upon hearing these announcements, Findaráto was feverish, yet he was glad too and deeply relieved, as if a great burden had been taken off his shoulders. It had never been up to him to convince the Valar to lift up the Ban, for his part in the War of the Jewels had been much smaller, and it had been fulfilled already - but as long as he had known Noldor, Sindar and Edain suffered under the dominion of Morgoth in Beleriand, he had felt he was failing his duty towards them somehow. And now some higher forces were at work, and perhaps he was slowly realizing he had done his best, truly.

His father, on the other hand, was eager to muster his troops and there was a flame burning his eyes Findaráto had never seen before. All of a sudden, it seemed lord Arafinwë had found the answers to all his questioning, to all his doubts - he had been meant to stay in Aman, indeed, for who but the last son of Finwë could lead the Noldor in the last war against Melkor. He was to return to Tirion soon and only tarried in Alqualondë in the hope of softening King Olwë's view on on this war in general and the exiled Noldor in particular, although he was wasting his energy on this case.

"I too shall be a warrior, in the end," said lord Arafinwë and already he dreamed of unsheathing his sword, this sword he had carried with him in Araman and whose blade was still immaculate.

He and his son were in the armory, the only there was in the halls of Olwë, and most of the items to be found there had actually been crafted by Noldorin smiths and given as gifts to the King of the Teleri.

"Have you not always been one, Father?" Findaráto was well aware his father was called the wise, that his strength lied more in words than in brutal force, although he probably was the most powerful Noldo left alive.

"I can fight I suppose, but to lead troops, to hearten soldiers and to face legions of Orcs, Balrogs and Dragons..." Lord Arafinwë's voice trailed and his eyes wandered on the shimmering mithril chainmail suspended on a wall right before him. It had been forged during the days of the Trees when the Noldor's most skilled smiths still dwelled in Aman and when weapon crafting was more of a leisure activity than a necessity.

"Does doubt linger in your mind?"

"No, it is my turn to seize the opportunity to avenge the death of my father and the theft of the Silmarils. And every strike shall bring me closer to my brothers, to my sons..." His fair face had hardened, his grey eyes has turned cold, like steel.

"Father, I saw the Dragons, the Balrogs and all those wretched creatures bred in the dark halls of Angband and even with the help of the Valar it shall be a bloody battle..."

"Would you be worried perhaps, Ingoldo?" Lord Arafinwë smiled and Findaráto was surprised, for he had seen this smile before - on Nolofinwë, on Findekáno's face, when leading the van.

"How could I not be?"

"Worry then, my dear son, but only a little. And do not forget to be proud."

And as Findaráto watched his father walk away, he felt strangely serene and, wandering a little longer in the armory, he lost himself in daydreams and wonders. When he noticed the Sun was going down, he wanted to see Amárië - he missed her keenly, whenever she was out of his sight too long. All day, she had been nowhere to be seen and Findaráto had simply assumed with of some of his cousins whom she had befriended long ago and yet seldom met over the centuries, or perhaps she was in the harbor, getting the mariners to show her how tie complicated knots. But night came and having asked around, he soon discovered no one had seen her since last evening and he grew restless.

Well after midnight, he found her at last and she had managed to find a very well hidden nook indeed. Part of the garden surrounding Olwë's castle was located on top of a cliff and the view on the Sea was spectacular and Tol Eresseä and the lights of Avalonnë were shimmering afar. There were few high trees, yet pines grew happily, swaying in the sea breeze, and their needles covered the grounds while here and there cones were scattered. Amárië was curled up against a low stone wall and had it not been for her golden hair reflecting the moonlight shine, he might have not spotted her at all.

He caught her unaware obviously and although there were no tears in her eyes, sadness was all over her face. Findaráto approached her quickly and he was pained she should seek loneliness when she felt distressed - ought she not come to him? Did she not trust him enough?

"Amárië, have you been crying?" Findaráto asked, crouching beside her.

"No, why would I..." she muttered, but she did her best to hide her face, keeping her head down.

"You have been crying," he stated and, sliding his hands around her, he pulled her towards him, slowly and carefully. Amárië did not resist, on the contrary she quickly nestled herself in his arms and he heard her stifle a sob, as she buried her face against his chest.

"I might have wept a little..." she admitted, reluctant.

"What it is, dearest? Has something ill befallen you?" Findaráto, alarmed, hugged her tight and he felt rather clueless, for Amárië's mood had been cheerful over the last days - it was as if the great events that had taken place had not disturbed her at all. Yet there was obviously something he had failed to notice.

"Some old fears have resurfaced..." she whispered.

"What could you be afraid of, my beloved? Beleriand may be under Morgoth's dominion, yet Aman is out of his reach," he told her, rubbing her back."And it shall remain so, for the Valar will ever protect this land and nothing could possibly hurt you."

She was shaking her head. "I am not scared for myself."

"The Vanyarin host is a powerful one and if Eönwë—"

"Ingoldo, do you not understand? I am scared for you!" And she started weeping - last time Findaráto had heard her sound so afflicted, it had been during their farewells...

"Me...? But..." he muttered, bewildered.

And it finally hit him.

"Oh Amárië, you would have been the first to know if I had... if I had... but I will not go to war, I am not allowed to leave Valinor."

"Last time too, you were forbidden to leave, yet you went forth... And in the North, you heard the words of the Prophecy and chose to overlook it..."

There was no bitterness in her tone, she was not blaming him either - it was as she had told him, she was simply scared.

"It is no more my wish to leave, do believe me." And every single word Findaráto had pronounced in such a heartfelt tone that Amárië blinked, surprised.

"Will you not follow your father?"

"No, I already fought my war," he answered, staring at her intently. It took a few seconds to sink in, but Amárië seemed to finally ease up, he could feel her relax in his arms.

"Were you so afraid I would leave you, loved one?" he said as he softly stroke her head - such fondness for her filled his heart in this moment, it became almost painful.

He adored his little Amárië and at times it felt he should devote his life to her and that everything else was but mere distractions. After the Darkening, he had refused to bring her along in exile and he had broken his vows, in order to save her. In Beleriand, he had hoped she had found happiness on her own, or with another one, and after his reembodiment, he had even considered not seeking to meet her at all, because it might have upset her

"Being apart from you once more was not a pleasant prospect, Ingoldo, but I... I cried because I do not want you to suffer anymore..."

"I... it was not..." He would have said that, overall, his life in exile had not been as terrible as she could imagine, for there had been pleasant moments and long years of peace.

But every single joy had been erased, every laughter had turned into cries. _And to evil end all things had turned that they begin well_. Almost of all of his family members had passed away, in cruel ways, the kingdoms they had built had fallen one by one and the few of their people who had survived had seen so many horrors ... And Artanis came to his mind again and he hoped she was still alive, he hoped her husband was still with her - how heavy his heart felt whenever he thought of his little sister.

It was the soft, delicate touch of Amárië's hands on his face that brought him back to the present, to Valinor.

"You have done well, Ingoldo, you have... recovered fast after your reembodiment. Yet shadows still linger in your heart and I believed you would have wanted to fight under the Valar's banners as a way to redeem yourself."

"I have redeemed myself already, otherwise I would not have been allowed to come back from the Halls of Mandos," he said, peering down at her. "And I am not the only one who has suffered..."

"I never left Aman."

"Perhaps, but I know you have had your fair share of anguish, for you have barely uttered a few words about the time you spent in the Gardens of Lórien."

"There is not much to be said about this," quickly muttered Amárië and she had become very pale all of a sudden.

"You stayed there a few years, did you not?," Findaráto insisted, lifting up her chin with the tip of his fingers. "For the love of me, would you tell me what happened there?"

Amárië felt compelled to talk - for the love of him she would have done anything.

"At first, I wept and lamented - that was all I did," she said, after a long silence. "And one day, there were no more tears left for me to shed and I had become like wilted flower... I had withered. I had no strength, no will... I was barely able to speak and the maids of Estë had to feed me themselves, as if I were a child again, for I would not have done so myself. I do not recall well these days, yet it seems Amárië of the Vanyar was gone from her own body, that her soul had withdrew else where, or so was I told afterwards..."

Hearing her words, Findaráto was stricken. "Amárië, I... Amárië, forgive me. Please forgive me."

"What is there to forgive, Ingoldo? It was but my own weakness that lead me into this... Had I gone to Beleriand, I would have died soon, I imagine, perhaps in the ice, like Elenwë... It is plain I am not valiant like you or any of your kin, if I could so easily collapse... and you were right not to bring me with you."

"I wanted to protect you Amárië, yet I never thought you were weak." He kissed her forehead again and again.

"Oh, but I was weak... the very idea of you facing all these unknown dangers, abroad, almost destroyed me..." she said with a sad smile.

* * *

 **F.A. 2 - Gardens of Lórien**

"I will never see him again," Amárië said, her expression completely blank. "I have grown used to the idea of being apart from him, for he needs me not to accomplish great deeds, nor to lead a good life..."

She no more was the radiant Amárië whose smartness had delighted everyone and whose laughter had echoed on the slopes of the Taniquetil. She neither smile nor cry and her blue eyes had become dull, having lost their spark - even her skin had turned a greyish white. Like all the Eldar, and especially the Vanyar, she mourned the Trees and their death affected her greatly for she feared life without their light, even though the Sun and the Moon had risen already. Yet above all, her heart was broken, completely shattered, and if during months the pain had been unbearable, she now felt numb. Only one thing still stirred her out of her torpor and it was the thought of Findaráto, although it no more was a happy thought, nor a comforting one.

"Yet I cannot bear the fact that he is doomed... if only he could find happiness, despite the threat."

She had not heard the Doom herself, it was lord Arafinwë who had conveyed the words of Mandos to her, after she had implored him to do so. It was then that Amárië, incredulous, had realized Findaráto was forever lost and remorse had overwhelmed her, crushing her utterly. Ought she not have been by his side and share his fate? Or, at least, should she not have told him how much she loved him, once and for all, instead of throwing a tantrum when he had come to bid her farewell?

"He shall face misery and bitterness, he shall suffer immensely. If he lives long enough, he will see all those he love die one by one at the hands of the Enemy, before he too passes away... and the Noldor shall mourn the fairest of their princes. For what we know he might have never reached Beleriand, perhaps the grinding ice was his end and his soul now dwells in the Halls of Mandos."

The last words had been but a breath escaping through her chapped lips. Her lids felt heavy and she closed her eyes, exhausted - speaking drained a lot of her energy and it had been long since she had said this much.

Back when she had had enough strength to weep, Amárië had also been brave enough to wander through the gardens, through its ponds and fountains whose waters were said to cure all the wounds of the body and the soul. Yet her forces had waned and as the last tears had rolled down her eyes, she had let herself fall against a tree, for her legs had been unable to support her anymore.

The oak was magnificent, its branches spread wide and high and its leaves were of a tender green, and Amárië, having found a shelter at long last, had refused to leave its side. A year almost had passed and everyday the maids of Estë came to keep her company, and every time they tried to make her talk - healing would only start if she agreed to share her grief with them, however they would never urge into it.

"My lady, rest now. The Moon is about to rise, he shall look after your dreams."

Amárië laid on the grass, between the roots of the oak tree, and two of the maidens stayed with her until she had completely fallen asleep, as if she was still a baby.

She had spent some fifty years in the gardens of Lórien and there she had become well versed in the healing lore, having been instructed by the Maiar themselves. Thereafter, it was oft said the mere touch of her hands soothed the body and the mind, although these skills were never really put to use and Amárië herself tended to belittle the knowledge that had been imparted to her - it would never help her save Findaráto.

* * *

Findaráto's pale eyebrows had furrowed and beneath his grey eyes shone ardently. "Why have you not told me earlier?" he asked. "I have never imagined... I... I believed you had sought some peace after the Darkening and what has ensued, yet I have never imagined you had dwelled there so long."

"What is it compared to what you and your people went through? I was safe there, I never once faced real danger," she said, still avoiding his gaze.

"Amárië, why would be ashamed of your grief?"

"I am not, I... Ingoldo, when I saw you after you reembodiment, in the halls of Ingwë, you were so pale and you looked so frightened. We barely heard your voice at the dinner, whereas, in old times, you would have been the one everyone listened to. Truth is, I did not feel very brave myself, yet at that moment I would have done anything to comfort you, to bring a smile on your face... Months passed by, and you got better and stronger, though I could tell a few shadows still haunted you and you were more fragile than you have ever been. Thus I chose to keep some of my fears to myself rather than to worry you uselessly and worsen your health..."

"Amárië, don't keep it all for yourself, I beg of you!" Findaráto felt anger rise in his chest, anger against Melkor mostly who was the source of all of the Eldar's sorrows, and perhaps some of it was also turned towards himself. "Have I been so self-centered that it lead you to believe I would not be there for you, ready to do all in my power to help you and support you? Amárië, you are precious to me, very precious... I love you so dearly, should I not be able to take care of you, I who flatter myself to have ruled a kingdom?"

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Ingoldo, for I know you had my safeguard in my mind all along," said Amárië, pressing his hands in hers. "And I never meant to conceal anything from you, I merely tried to ease your burden, like you tried to ease mine."

Findaráto heaved a sigh - to think that all of their woes originated from the theft of the Silmarils... "You are right when you say some shadows still linger in my heart, yet the Darkening left no one unscathed and my life in Beleriand... I cannot forget it, of course, and would not forget it, but even my darkest memories will not prevent me from being happy."

"I have gathered as much, otherwise you would have insisted on fighting alongside your father."

"I was surprised myself I could so easily step back and consider this war from afar."

"Perhaps it is because you met Elwing who has brought the Silmaril with her, you saw with your own eyes you were successful, in the end."

Findaráto nodded, tightening his hold on her, and he took a deep breath to inhale the salty air of the Ocean - it was strangely appeasing. "My dear Amárië, will you allow me to reminisce a little?"

"Of course, Ingoldo."

"I recall well the day I left the halls of Nargothrond, with Beren and our faithful companions. I was not happy, neither was I unhappy, although there was no doubt I would never be seen again by my people. And my heart was heavy when I parted from my nephew and his daughter, heavier even for Tyelkormo and Curufinwë's presence in my kingdom had caused us some... inconveniences. Although they had never dared threaten me directly, I was not convinced they would show the same restraint with Orodreth. But, most importantly, I also remember thinking, What a relief Amárië is not here... What a relief she does have to witness this... What a relief she is still dwelling in Valinor, what a relief I am not leaving her alone, in Beleriand."

"I could have died well before you left for the Quest," said Amárië, very seriously. She had straightened and, cupping his face with one hand, she brushed a few strands away from his face.

"Either ways it would have been devastating, Amárië. Had you died first, I would have never forgiven myself... Had I died first, it means I would have left you alone, facing terrible dangers..." whispered Findaráto, closing his eyes as Amárië slid her fingers in his hair. "Oh, how I pitied Turukáno, how devastated he was after Elenwë's death... He never was able to forgive the sons of Fëanáro for having set the ships afire..."

She kissed his brow, her arms locked around his neck. "I wonder if I will ever understand what you have been through... I suppose some parts shall remain a mystery..."

"Many things changed, Amárië, and perhaps we shall come across few more struggles," and by 'few more struggles' he meant the upcoming war, although he could not yet foresee what would come. "But my love for you has never wavered and I believe that whatever the outcome would have been, we would have found each other in the end."

Findaráto searched for her lips and they shared a long kiss, as they still sat on the pinetree needles covered ground, beside the low wall that protected them from the fresh sea wind.

"Since I have allowed you to reminisce, dear Ingoldo, will you allow me a few questions?" breathed Amárië, when their mouths broke apart.

"Only a few? I am disappointed..." Findaráto, laughing softly - her kisses always chased away even the most grieving memories, it seemed.

"How was it, the battlefield ?" asked Amárië and she felt shy to tackle this matter.

"Rather unpleasant." He was not born a warrior, he had been forced to become one, unlike his brothers Angaráto and Aikanáro who had dwelled closest to Angband.

"How was it, really ?"

"Awful, Amárië... Truly awful. During the Dagor Bragollach, we fought armies of Orcs, and Balrogs, the powerful fire demons, and there were gigantic dragons pouring dark fires on our hosts..." As much as he was able to feel hatred, he loathed the dragons that had burned down the Ard-Galen and slain his brothers, he loathed them far more than the wolved that had killed him.

"Were you wounded? Had you scars?" she looked closely at his hand, the one she was holding in hers. It was useless, of course, for his body bore no traces of his previous life and his skin was smooth and flawless.

"Until the Wolves, I never was seriously injured, but I did have a few scars... Why, would you fancy having a husband covered with gashes?" Findaráto asked, chuckling and nudging her playfully.

"No, no..." she answered, surprised he could tease her on such a sinister matter. "But I would like to know more about what it was to live and fight in Beleriand."

"Then you would need to hear more to my own accounts."

"What were Orcs like?"

"Ugly," he said, wincing.

Amárië frowned.

"Ugly," Findaráto repeated and this time he was amused. "You would not know, loved one, you never saw anyone or anything ugly. And this is precisely why I never doubted I made the right choice by not bringing you with me to Beleriand."

* * *

The sentence in italic is [almost] a direct quote from the Doom of Mandos.

I understand the Teleri were still feeling resentful towards the Noldor (at least those who left to Beleriand) but there was also a bunch of Sindar in need of some mighty help - how could they overlook that?


	18. Celebrations

**Borys** : well for on thing Thingol was Olwë's brother and I think Círdan was also related to them. By the time of the War of Wrath Thingol had already died, but still... Although his death and the fall of Doriath were mostly caused by the Silmaril and the Oath... but yes most Teleri must have had some family among the Sindar.

To be honest, I was not even planning on writing about their wedding, because 1) I don't think I am very good at writing these scenes, 2) I didn't want a wedding to be the conclusion of this story, I thought it would be too agreed (and cheesy). Also it seems Finrod and Amárië have much more to accomplish... but I've been reconsidering this and since both of them have genuinely believed they would never meet again (or if they had, it would have been much later, like at the end of Arda), their wedding might feel even more important to them than a 'regular' wedding. Also Finrod has litteraly died and been reborn, so they deserve to celebrate their luck :)

* * *

 **Chapter 18 - Celebrations  
**

Valinor was on the verge of war, smiths worked nights and days to forge new weapons and armours and those who had answered the call of their leaders now trained assiduously under the vigilent eyes of masters-of-arms. On the Taniquetil, Ingwion mustered his troops and though none of the Vanyar had ever fought a real battle, they look mighty and terrifying with their shiny helms and their long lances. They had also an advantage, compared to the Elves of Beleriand, for not only did they prove to be disciplined and capable soldiers, but they also had always dwelled in the Aman and the land itself had nourrished them, making their bodies and minds stronger - some even said the Vanyar's powers were somewhat extraordinary, by all standards.

Amárië had never imagined her people would take part in a war, outside of Valinor, neither had it crossed her mind she would feel proud to see them gather under their prince's command. She knew some of them, of course, for they were her kin, her friends, they were the husbands, brothers and sons of acquaintances, and she wondered what awaited them in Beleriand - could they really defeat Morgoth and his armies of Balrogs and Dragons? And at what cost would such a grand victory come? Ingorion too would fight and on his armour had been encrusted a golden flower, the symbol of his cousin's house, for Laurefindil, though slightly disappointed, was not to take part in what would be known as the War of Wrath.

The Noldor were less in numbers than the Vanyar, but they were fiercer because every single one of them had lost loved ones, gone into exile and more than likely slain during a tragic battle. Like their king, lord Arafinwë, they wished to avenge their deads and to save those few who had managed to escape Morgoth's dominion and were hiding in the havens at the mouth of the Sirion. Findaráto watched from afar these preparations, yet along with Laurefindil and Eärendil he was able to provide his father some useful informations on the Enemy's armies and on the territories of Beleriand and that was the only contribution lord Arafinwë would accept from his son.

Once, Amárië had suggested to Findaráto to delay their wedding - was it not more reasonable to wait for the war to be over? And she thought Findaráto might have been too worried about his father to want to hold merrymakings mere months before a terrible fighting was about to take place.

"On the contrary, Amárië, my father insisted he should see us being wedded before he sails to Beleriand," said Findaráto after she had told him about her concerns. "I daresay he is rather proud to have his eldest child marrying at last, I surely would not want to deny him the pleasure of seeing us become husband and wife."

"Yet after the war—"

"Amárië, for all I know this war could last decades and decades... The Valar mean to destroy Angband and vanquish Morgoth, however no one can imagine the depth of the horrors that lie in the Iron Fortress. The armies of Valinor are strong, I do not doubt it, but it is wiser for us to be wedded now, before the storm."

And so their wedding was held at the end of Summer, on the Taniquetil, for Findaráto had wished to please his bride-to-be who loved dearly the meadows and the forests of the mountain's slopes. Lady Indis had lent them a house, beside of which a stream ran down the mountain, and a great marquee had been raised in a large field, where they could welcome numerous guests. Many Noldor had come and if their betrothal had been but a small and private event, this time a larger crowd had been assembled, perhaps because this feast was a good excuse for everyone to gather and celebrate love and, once more, the union of Noldor and Vanyar.

* * *

 **Summer 542**

Findaráto and Amárië had exchanged their vows in the early morning, when dew still covered the fresh grass, and their parents had been the only witnesses of this important and intimate moment. Golden rings now sparkled on their forefingers, yet they would also keep their silver rings and they would ever cherish these tokens of their oustandingly long betrothal, for it would be a reminder of the struggles they had gone through before finally being reunited. At last they were wedded and when they showed in front of their friends and families to celebrate with them this happy event, both of them were splendid.

Amárië wore many jewels, which was a rare occurence, and she had selected some of the finest pieces Findaráto had given her, that were all made of gold and set with blue sapphires. Her brow was adorned with an elegant circlet and her long blonde hair had been braided in an intricate fashion and entwined with shiny ribbons. Her dresses too were more luxurious than what she usually wore, for she was clad in white and gold and the fabric had been embroidered with bright gems - she truly glittered from head to toe.

As for Findaráto, once more he upheld beautifully the title of "fairest prince of the Noldor" in clothes of emerald green and gold, the colours of his father's house. It was as if he had grown a couple inches taller over the last year, however it simply was that he feared no more display his height and might, and this body the Valar had given him back after his days in the Halls of Mandos. The maidens of Menegroth surely would have swooned over him, had they been there to see him stride among guests, his eyes sparkling, his mouth curled up in an unfading smile and his smooth hair flowing behind him. His silhouette alone was quite extraordinary, yet his laughter was what they would all remember.

Friends and family had started gathering in the afternoon and a great feast was to be held throughout the evening and the night, yet not long after dusk Findaráto and Amárië had seemingly vanished, for they were nowhere to be seen in the great marquee where the banquet had taken place, neither in the meadow where everyone dances and sang.

Findaráto had merely wanted to kiss Amárië without having their whole families and friends stared at them and so he had brought her a bit farther in the woods, although the lights of the feast were still visible. Yet now that it was just the two of them, they found that the trees and the stars were all the company they needed for the moment.

"I should be willing to celebrate all night, for I long dreamed of our wedding day," muttered Amárië, who had tilted her head back as he kissed her down her neck. "But I find I have no desire to sing or dance and I would rather be with you, solely."

"And I, I find myself only too happy to comply to your wish." Findaráto would have said yes to anything she would have asked of him, however it happened that he too prefered to have her all for himself.

"Would you rather not entertain our guests with some of your stories?" she teased him.

"I am too dazzled by your beauty to recall any of my favorite speeches," he said, straightening a little, after his mouth had reached her collarbone. "And do not forget that Laurefindil could keep them busy for weeks with his tales of Gondolin, were he wishing to share some of his memories."

"He might, I find that Eärendil's presence has changed him greatly and he too, like you, has been able to speak openly about his past as of late."

"I might have some competition as a renowned story-teller," Findaráto chuckled and glancing quickly behind him, he wondered, "Would you perhaps want to go back to the feast, our wedding feast?"

"No, not yet," replied Amárië, huddling herself closer to him.

"Excellent, I had hoped we could take a walk around the forest." There was a little sparkle dancing in his grey eyes and a smirk flashed on his lips, as if some wild thought had crossed his mind.

"A walk?" It was not exactly what Amárië had pictured they would be doing.

"Yes, I believe it is time to discuss some crucial matters we have avoided so far," declared Findaráto and his expression had turned solemn, although mischief could still be seen in his stare.

"What..?" muttered Amárië, confused, as he took her by the arm to lead further deep in the forest.

"Tell me, dearest Amárië, how many children should we have? What number would be suitable to you?" he asked, pretending not to notice her growing uneasiness.

"Should we really discuss this now...?"

"Four, perhaps?" Findaráto insisted. "It seems to be the best number, by far. Among the Eldar, it is usually considered outstanding that Fëanáro had seven sons, as outstanding as he was if I may say, and I can only agree with this. Yet my grandfather, when he remarried with lady Indis, he fathered four more children, and my uncle and aunt had four too and so did my parents... I believe it behoves us to maintain this tradition, especially since I am my father's eldest son."

"Four..." muttered Amárië and she was so bewildered that Findaráto could not keep a straight face anymore.

He burst in laughters, rubbing her cheek gently. "I am merely teasing you, Amárië, there is no need to blush so deeply."

She felt a bit embarassed, yet she smiled and catching his hand in hers she told him, "It is a very serious matter, Ingoldo, and you almost fooled me indeed."

"Have you... have you ever thought about it though?" Findaráto inquired, hesitant.

For his part, he had and quite often. He had known from the start the kingdom of Nargothrond was not meant to last, yet he had ever fancied the idea of sitting on his throne, surrounded by his children, and he had also longed to have a heir on whom he could have relied - hopefully the presence of Orodreth had brought him some comfort. Yet leaving Aman and Amárië had meant those dreams would never be achieved and it had been but another woe Findaráto had carried throughout his years in Beleriand.

"I did... mostly after my sister was born." Yet she had never dared imagine she would have children of her own and she had barely wondered what it could feel like to be pregnant. Amárië had long resolved to remain unwed, thus she had believed the only family she would know what the one she had been born in.

"Your sister, she reminds me of my little niece, Finduilas." Findaráto rarely even uttered this name and Amárië had actually heard more about her from Laurefindil who had told her the tale of the fall of Nargothrond. "She was a sweet child, a real delight, I... I loved her greatly," he said, his voice low and strained.

"Ingoldo, you won't shed tears today, will you?" whispered Amárië, pressing his hands in hers. "Tears of joy would be suitable, yet do no let melancholy cloud your happiness."

"I had planned a far longer speech on the ideal number of children we ought have, to tell you the truth, and I had come up with some solid genealogical arguments that would have required tedious explanations... All that for the sheer pleasure of teasing you, lovely one," said Findaráto and his smile was still a little sad.

"Perhaps you wished to tease me, my love, but you ended up being earnest."

"Indeed... How could I not be?" he sighed, closing his eyes briefly as Amárië put a kiss on his lips.

She wrapped an arm around his and, nodding towards the deeper part of the woods, she said, "Come, you said we should have a walk around the woods, and you can tell me about all of these genealogical studies you undertook to convince me that we should have exactly four children."

* * *

They walked around the forest, crossing a few glades on their way, yet they did not wander far and at all time the lights of their feasts were visible through trees and bushes. They talked a lot, but they kept their voices low and it was like a soft music that brought the creatures of the woods to follow them - owls and foxes were also charmed by the gentle of their steps. Findaráto and Amárië were both beautiful and they embodied all the grace and majesty of the Eldar born and raised under the light of the Trees, as their eyes and hair shone under the gleams of the stars and of the Moon. And on their forefingers sparkled their golden rings, these very simple and smooth rings they sometimes contemplated silently without realizing entirely what it meant to wear such items, yet they knew their fates were sealed together and that was reason enough to fill their chests with boundless bliss.

Findaráto, especially, felt young again, he who had too long bore the years he had spent in Beleriand like a burden, and his limbs had never been so light ever since he had been reembodied - as well as he could recall, his feet had always been so swift when he had dwelled in Aman, before the exile. His laughter was a gentle melody, echoed by Amárië's own merriness, and his face was pure, cleared of all the woes and worries that had furrowed his brow and tarnished his gaze over the centuries. He had once more become this prince of the Noldor, their fairest lord, as it was sung in many songs, the one Amárië had met in Alqualondë and fallen in love with.

And Amárië, what could be said of Amárië of the Vanyar, the lovely bride? If any of the Men had come across her in the woods, if some of the mortals had seen her, they would have believed she was a dream of theirs or an ethereal apparition not meant to be seen by the human eyes, for none of the Edain had met a full blooded Vanya and Amárië was accounted as one of the prettiest, even among her folk - perhaps she would have dazzled the Sindar too, thought Findaráto. He had braided a flower crown for her, with the white lilies that bloomed in one of the glades they had walked through, and she looked like a forest spirit and Findaráto felt utterly bewitched by her charms. And he knew already this night would remain one of his dearest memories.

"Should we go join them again, for a little while?" asked Findaráto as he saw her gazing towards the ongoing feast, as they were walking on a trail that lead back to the meadow where the marquees had been raised. "Perhaps your feet feel tingly and you would like to dance?"

He would have rather kept her all for himself, but Amárië loved celebrations and she hardly could resist dancing whenever music was being played.

"No, tonight I need to be with you only," said Amárië, leaning her head on his shoulder. "We shall have plenty more opportunities to dance in the future, at festivals and other merrymakings..."

The lights of the lanterns, dangling in the summer breeze, brightened the trees surrounding them and it played on their rich clothes as well, the fabric and the jewelry flickering every time they moved, but they both prefered to stay hidden, in the semidarkness of the woods.

"They are our families and friends yet even they cannot perceive how special this moment is to us..." Findaráto reflected, as he caught glimpse of a few familiar silhouettes, by the great bonfire that had been lighted up at sunset.

Going into exile, Findaráto had given up on many things, some material and valuable, some less concrete, yet more precious - the hope of a wedding and of having a family of his own had been among the latter.

"It is part of the things we need not share with others, it is enough that both of us have understood what this means." Amárië stood on tiptoes to kiss his lips and, as Findaráto cupped her face, his mouth pressed harder on hers, their embrace was a tight one. He found that kissing her was different now, that it made his heart beat even faster in his chest and his breath soon was heavier. He was so eager to feel her body against his it made him somewhat dizzy.

"My dear Amárië," he said at last, when their kiss had ended and he had need of little pause to regain his composure, "what will you call me, from now on?"

"Ingoldo?" she mused, pretending not to understand what he wanted to hear. Their hands were entwined and her gold ring twinkled on her finger, just as she smiled at him playfully.

Findaráto shook his head, seemingly unsatisfied.

"My beloved Ingoldo?" she tried and she was extremely endearing, with her pink cheeks and her slightly dishevelled hair.

"There is still room for improvement," he deemed, with faint coldness - whereas he truly did his best not to kiss her again.

"Dearest and bravest Ingoldo, he who lights my path?"

Findaráto heaved a sigh, a heartfelt one, for he felt he was at her mercy. "Won't you say it, Amárië, or should I beg you?"

And she jumped on him, happily, wrapping her arms around his neck as she exclaimed, "Oh, my sweet husband, worry not, for I shall be ever good to you."

"I shall consider this a satisfying start, although hereafter I will expect more from you," said Findaráto, trying to sound severe while he was grinning blissfully.

"You do fancy that you have been given so many names, don't you?" Amárië chuckled, putting a quick kiss on the tip of his nose.

"It is flattering, indeed, and I have got quite a collection which I am rather... proud of," he admitted and he was distracted for a second, going over those names and titles he had cumulated.

"I know which one is your favorite and sadly, it is not Hanquento," stated Amárië.

"I am very fond of Hanquento," Findaráto protested and he was not lying - it reminded him of their early days, when they were flirting under the light of the Trees.

"No, you think it is ridiculous and I cannot blame you for it," said Amárië and she could not deny herself that Question and Answer were perhaps not the most poetic nicknames. "Those you love most are Felagund and Nóm because no other Elf, Eldar or not, has gained himself an espessë both from the Dwarves and the Men."

"These names I cherish, indeed, but call me whatever you like, my lovely wife, and I shall love it even more." Findaráto had tightened his hold on her and since her feet no more reached the ground, Amárië closely hung onto him.

"Ought I not call you Ivezno then?" she suggested.

"It would be a logical choice, I suppose."

They were laughing and, hugging each other, they kissed again, slowly. Amárië had entwined her fingers in his hair and she was rubbing the back of his neck while Findaráto, still smiling, was careful to cover every inch of her face with kisses, although he did favour much her mouth. The moon had risen high in the sky and even the owls seemed tired, for the night was advanced, and Findaráto thought it was time for he and Amárië to put an end to their wandering.

"We are not going back to the feast, are we?" he whispered into Amárië's ear.

"No..." she muttered leaning in for another kiss.

"Then shall we go to our room, my dear and lovely wife?" His voice was hoarse and it had slightly wavered when he had asked his question, his eyes half-closed, his hands sliding down her back. Great desire burned inside his chest and that was something he had believed he would never feel again.

"Yes, we are yet to be truly wedded." His breath felt warmer than usual on her skin and a shiver went down her spine.

Findaráto's mouth was a little dry when he followed her, as she lead him to the house where they were to spend the rest of the night.

* * *

Astarë loved feasts, although she more than often tended to overdo herself which lead to sudden and unavoidable tiredness , thus she ended up falling asleep in someone's arms. But for her sister's wedding, which truly was the foremost event of the year and perhaps of all of her short life, Astarë had decided to be cautious and to be parsimonious when it came to dancing, even though some of her favorite partners were present - she loved very much Ingorion and his cousin, lord Laurefindil. Alas for her, it seemed all her precautions had been vain, for well before her eyelids felt heavy, Amárië had vanished, and so had Findaráto.

The poor abandoned little sister did her best to seek the newlyweds, running around the crowd of guests and asking each and everyone about the whereabouts of Amárië and Findaráto, yet none had seen them for a while already. Finally she stumbled upon her mother and lord Arafinwë who were happily commenting the feast.

"Mother, I cannot find Amárië," complained Astarë, pouting. "And neither could I find lord Findaráto..."

"I'm afraid they went away, dear one," said her mother, giggling softly.

"But Amárië did not dance much tonight..."

"She had other concerns on her mind, I'd wager."

"Is a wedding a worrying event then?" wondered Astarë who, after all, knew not much about being in love and getting married.

"No, not at all," replied her mother, still laughing. "Yet they have long awaited to become husband and wife, perhaps they want to enjoy their bliss on their own."

"Because lord Findaráto dwelled in Beleriand for so long?" asked Astarë, turning to lord Arafinwë who was grinning.

"Exactly. For centuries, they had believed they were never to see each other again."

"But... but Lord Findaráto will not leave Aman once more, will he?"

"No, he won't," told her lord Arafinwë, stroking her soft hair. "He has come back home at last and does not intend to leave ever again."

* * *

Don't the Vanyar seem a bit out of this world? (literaly, almost) They were the less numerous folk among the Elves and they loved poetry, but they formed the main part of the host that fought during the War of Wrath, they must have been terrific fighters when they wanted to.

If I am correct, Ivezno would mean "The Husband" pretty much like Ingoldo means "The Noldo" (and it's even the Vanyarin form of it, again if I am correct).

Lots of characters have four children, if you check the genealogies (Fingolfin, Finarfin, Elros, Isildur, etc) I've always assumed it was because Tolkien himself had four children and he thought it was the best number of course :P (and actually it's very often 3 boys and 1 girl, just like Tolkien's children...) And although I have never mentionned Argon, I still wrote that Fingolfin had 4 children.

 **It's not exactly the end, I am writing a little epilogue :)**


	19. Epilogue

**Borys** : you're welcome, I guess I spared it to myself as well haha.

It is just a short chapter that takes place a while after the end of the story (a century actually), because the real happy ending for the Sindar and the Noldor only takes place after the end of the 1st Age, so only after that did Finrod really got things back together [almost].

* * *

 **Epilogue**

 **S.A. 62**

"Ah there, you see it? This is a fire salamander and we are lucky it has rained today, for these small fellows rarely venture under the sunlight."

Amárië had lift up a large leaf under which the salamander had been hiding and her son, little Artamir, had gaped upon seeing the creature.

"It is much bigger than the newts we saw in the pond!" exclaimed the child. "And it is so beautiful with its shiny black skin with the yellow spots!"

Mother and son had crouched and their eyes were squinted the exact same way as they gazed at the salamander - it was staring back, yet it dared not move.

"What does it eat?" asked Artamir.

"Insects mostly."

"Does it like water, like the newts?"

"It lays its eggs in water, just before they hatch, but it prefers to dwell on grounds covered with leafs and moss," Amárië explained. "Or it might chose to live in an old tree trunk."

"Can I touch it?"

"You would be ill-advised to do so, for its skin is poisonous."

"Really? Is it dangerous?"

"A bit, yes. And it hurts, a lot."

Artamir was now admiring the salamander with newfound respect and the small amphibian, having established it was not to be treated lightly despite its rather tiny size, took this as an opportunity to leave and go about its daily activities.

"Shouldn't Father be there by now?" inquired Artamir who could not wait to share his discoveries with his father.

"He must be on his way already, yet he might have strayed a little," answered Amárië, stroking her son's head.

"Strayed? We are not that far from the city though..."

"You know your father, he probably stopped to greet someone and it ended up in a long monologue on the shimmering colors of autumn leaves or perhaps on the genealogy of some minor houses of the Noldor."

* * *

Findaráto had strayed, indeed.

He had intended to join his wife and son right after his usual morning walk with his father, beneath the trees of Eldamar, down the crystal stairs of Tirion. But near the gates of the city, where he and lord Arafinwë had parted, he had come across a familiar face.

"Glorfindel, where are you going, clad in such a sumptuous attire?" he had greeted his friend.

"I was graciously invited to a hunting party by lord Fingon and lord Turgon, and I am on the way to the stables," replied the Gondolindrim.

Perhaps Findaráto had exaggerated a little, for Glorfindel was elegant, yet his clothes were simply white, bearing a single golden flower - somptuous was perhaps an overstatement. The three servants following him wore grey travelling cloaks and were carrying a long bow, arrows and gears of all sorts.

"Then we can walk a little while together together, I was myself on my way to find Amárië and Artamir," said Findaráto, enthusiastic. "They left at dawn to spend the day in the forest."

"And what have they gone seeking this time?"

"They took a liking to amphibians lately, thus I believe they went looking for frogs, newts and salamanders. And toads too, I suppose."

"Do they intend to catch any?"

"They might have a closer look at a few specimens, but Amárië won't let Artamir catch anything. She says wilderness has to remain wild and that she won't keep any prisoners in her home, for not all creatures were meant to be tamed." And, saying this, Findaráto smiled, fondly remembering how horrified his dear Amárië had been when, a few months ago, he had suggested they should keep a nightingale home awhile, for their son's entertainment.

"Prisoners?" chuckled Glorfindel. "A few newts in the clear water of a fountain would not be so unhappy, I daresay."

"Newts actually prefer still water," Findaráto corrected him, having himself read a lot about amphibians. "Perhaps efts would not mind living in a tank, however once they grow, they would need some land as well. Although, mind you, we could easily build a tank large enough to accomodate all the needs of our little amphibian friends... I wonder what Amárië would think about that, after all if I can manage to present this as an experimentation, then perhaps it would strike her curiosity and she would agree to keep the newts home. I know for sure she is utterly fascinated by their metamorphoses and Artamir and her have decided to discover everything there is to discover about newts and salamanders - I too am rather thrilled about these researches myself, as it is an excellent introduction to natural sciences for the child. And it is adorable to see how our son is serious about it, his notes and observations are so neatly done, he is bound to become a great scholar."

Of course, Findaráto could not help but to discuss the education he and Amárië provided their son, detailing the subjects they had been going over with him over the last year, and how surprised they were the child's mind was already so sharp. By then, Glorfindel was used to his friend's tendency to monologues and he had to admit Findaráto had quite a talent at it, thus he listened silently, nodding now and then, when he felt he was required to.

"I hear ramble and there I see you, Ingoldo," said suddenly a familiar voice, coming behind them. "I gather you will not join our little hunting party?"

It was Angaráto, clad in green and brown clothes, was carrying his own equipment, for no servants were with him.

"In a way, I will be hunting too."

"Oh, I can imagine a stuffed newt would truly enhance the mantelpiece of the dining hall."

"I do recall you said you would rather hung a boar head up there, that accounts for your flawless taste, dear brother."

The brothers were both grinning, clearly satisfied of themselves. It had taken them a few months to resume their old habits when Angaráto had been reembodied, for at first there had been a lot of crying and both happy and sad tears had been shed.

"I suppose we shall each bring back our trophies to the tower and then we may judge what would be most suitable for this mantelpiece. And perhaps lord Laurefindil could bring a stag, antlers are usually considered elegant decorations."

It had surely not been Angaráto's intention, but his little intervention had somewhat triggered Findaráto into an unprecedentedly long speech on the several species of deers in Valinor - something he had studied with his son not so long ago, he mentioned - and he spoke about Tol Eresseä, where fauna and flora were shockingly different from what could be found in Aman, which lead him to his absolutely favorite subject of the past few decades - Númenor, this island the Valar had raised for the Edain.

"I cannot help but wonder what their cities are like, how their realm is developping. The Elves of Tol Eresseä, who get to sail over there, brought them a seedling of their Tree, Celeborn born itself out of a seedling of our own White Tree, and it is said it already bloomed, in Armenelos, the City of the King, where it was planted."

And Findaráto was dreaming out loud of this place he would never set eyes on, yet he could rely on the few accounts he had heard from the Teleri to imagine the tower Elros had built and the Meneltarma's high slopes that lead to the temple dedicated to the One. He had no desire to go there himself, for it was the land of the Atani and even the mariners of Tol Eresseä never wandered outside the harbors where their ships moored, but he was fascinated by Númenor and he still truly cared for the fate of Men, he who had been called their friend.

Findaráto also loved to collect the stories of the exiled Noldor, those who had come back to Valinor, either by boat after the War of Wrath, or through the Halls of Mandos, reembodied like he had been. He talked a lot to the Sindar as well, the newcomers, for a good portion of these people had definetely left Middle-Earth - Beleriand no more was, although for him, who would ever dwell in the Blessed Lands, it felt as if it was still out there. The Wars of the Jewels were over indeed, but Arda had changed and the Eldar too were not exactly the same, whatever folk they belonged to, and Findaráto believed the history of the 1st Age of the Sun should be preserved, in songs and in scrolls alike.

"Of course, as long as we, the exiled and the Sindar, last, our memories shall do so, yet if we mean to study history and draw conclusions from our past deed, then we ought write it down."

"Do you fear then, if another terrible event was to occur in Valinor, that we might repeat the same mistakes, would we not clearly deal with our history?"

It sounded very close to Angaráto's voice, but it was not his - Orodreth stood by Findaráto and had apparently been there awhile. His wife and Finduilas had come along and they had been listening intently to the speech about the importance of written history, their sparkling eyes set on Findaráto, their faces serious - the kind of crowd he liked most.

"I was lost in my thoughts, I'm afraid I had not noticed my audience had grown larger ! Or... has it?" Findaráto gazed around, turning his head left and right. "Where have Glorfindel and Angaráto gone?"

"The hunting party was about to leave without them, they had to leave us fast," said Orodreth and as he saw Findaráto look up in the sky in search of the Sun, he added "It is an hour past noon, Uncle."

"I have been lingering too long already," sighed Findaráto and he thought he would have to run fast through the woods if he meant to reach his wife and son before dusk.

"Make haste, Uncle, Amárië and Artamir must be wondering what happened to you," said Finduilas who could not help but laugh softly.

"Oh, I would imagine they have assumed I... strayed a little."

* * *

Barefeet, mother and son were wading in a pond and Artamir was giggling everytime a frog would jump or croak and Amárië chuckled every time her son giggled - birds had gathered in the trees nearby to listen to their laughters. Their hair was of the exact same shade of dark gold, they laughed the same way too, but otherwise Artamir was in all physical aspects similar to his father, as Findaráto was himself much alike lord Arafinwë. They were his dearest treasures and this little family of his was all he had ever needed, he thought, looking at them.

"What a charming sight!" he said out loud. "What a charming lady and what a charming young boy!"

"Father!" Artamir ran towards Findaráto who caught him and lift him up. His son felt so light and little in his arms and he loved holding him or having him sit on his shoulders - he was well aware these days would not last long and he wanted to enjoy it as much as he could.

"Tell me, have you seen a lot of toads, of newts?"

"Yes and we saw a fire salamander, it was hiding under wet leaves! Did you know it is dangerous to touch their skin? Mother said it is poisonous," said Artamir whose enthusiasm was contagious. The child's hands were muddy, from all the searching he had done around the pond, and he had managed to quickly stain his father's clothes.

"Your mother is quite right, their yellow spots are indeed poisonous."

"Have you ever touched one?"

"No, and I would not recommand you to do it, you'd hurt a lot."

"That is what Mother said."

Amárië had come out of the pond as well, beaming at them. The bottom of her dress was wet up to her knees, her hair was a bit dishevelled and at least one leaf was caught in it - that was the Amárië Findaráto loved most.

"What a remarkably wise mother you have!" said Findaráto, putting an arm around his wife's shoulders and leaning to kiss her forehead. His son on one side, his wife on the other, he could not have been happier and he grinned widely at them both.

"It is already afternoon, Ingoldo, what has delayed you?" asked Amárië.

"As it happened, I had engaged in a very interesting discussion with Laurefindil, and with Angaráto."

She laughed. "And what matter could you possibly need to discuss so urgently that you would let your son wait for you hours and hours?"

"History... not that it is more important than you," he assured his son, putting a kiss on his round cheek. "Perhaps we should spend the night here, to make up for my delay? We do not have to back to the city today and sleeping under the stars seems a rather pleasant prospect, does it not?"

"This is an excellent idea," Amárië agreed. "The houses and towers of Tirion were built with unparalleled craft, yet wilderness is a lovely home too."

"Could we stay by the pond?" Artamir suggested. "I do really like frog croaking."

"Will it not prevent you from sleeping?"

The child shook his head. "No, it is a soothing sound."

"Ah, ponds. Water, even peaceful still water, is an ever fascinating topic. Have I told you of the shores of Cuiviénen as described by my grandfather, Artamir?"

"You did, Father."

"Have I really? Then you would surely recall that Cuiviénien was a gulf in the Sea of Helcar, a vast inland sea, east of Beleriand, and that it was named after one of the pillar one which was set Illuin, one of the two Lamps the Valar had created in the beginning of Arda to bring light to the world. And why would a sea bear the name of a pillar, you may ask, well—"

"The pillars were cast down and the Lamps were broken by Melkor, causing the lands and seas to be reshaped and where fell Illuin the Sea of Helcar was created. Thus its name is an everlasting reminder of the great pillar that one stood there, supporting the northen Lamp," Artamir recited, even imitating the usual dramatic tone his father's voice took when he was telling him about the destruction of the Lamps. The child may have been only twelve years old, but he had heard the story ever since he had been a toddler and he was quite gifted at learning indeed.

Amárië had burst into laughter, to the delight of Artamir who felt rather proud of his impersonation. "What have you done to our son, Ingoldo?"

"He was well taught, that is all," said Findaráto, chuckling, and he was amazed by the way Artamir had so easily remembered his speech, although, as it was by far his favourite story, he might have repeated it very often. "Now I grew curious, dear son, for I wonder if you could tell me what happened next and what brought light to Arda after the Lamps were destroyed."

"He knows it all," said Amárië as their child was nodding.

"Then let's sit and we shall listen to your tales, young Artamir."

And thus the family settled on the bank of the pond, as the Sun was going down in the sky. Findaráto pulled Amárië closer to him and she leaned her head on his shoulder while Artamir nestled himself between his parents - by far his favourite spot.

"Where should I start?" asked the child, taking his role as a storyteller seriously.

"By the creation of the Trees and the years that ensued," answered Findaráto, "then only can we go back to Cuiviénien, where everything started, for the Elves at least."

* * *

For their son's name, I simply took the 'Ara/Arta' from 'Arafinwë' and 'Artanis' ("noble") and added 'mir' (from mírë, "jewel") and I suppose that if they have any more children they will all have this 'mir' in their father-name (like the sons of Fingolfin all have káno/gon and the sons of Finarfin aráto/rod). [Small edit: I was browsing through the Kings of Gondor's genealogies (you know, as a way to relax from a busy day haha) and I came across a prince called Artamir, so I'm glad the name is actually canon even though it's just a coincidence]

And I limited myself to mentioning only a few reembodied Elves (and mostly from Finrod's family) because it would have been way too long to list all of those who probably came back during the beginning of the 2nd Age (at least I've always imagined most of the Noldor/Sindar were reembodied at that time, except a few notable exceptions). What would be interesting to write about is the reaction of Finrod/Angrod/Finarfin when they understand Galadriel is not coming yet, even though she could... but that is another story ;)

* * *

So that is the end, when I get to hit the ' **complete** ' button!

 **Thank you to everyone who took the time to read the story (even if you just read a few chapters, I hope it was fun anyways), and to those who favourited/followed it, and those who reviewed or sent me a pm, it was nice talking to you ! It was a fun story to write, I hope it was a fun story to read !  
**

Now I should be going through the story once more and get rid of some of those lingering typos, also I need to go read fics to recharge my batteries haha

See you next time!

(I do hope I haven't forgotten anything major...)


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